


Hi, Hello

by brynnzie



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Mark-centric, Not the ending you want, abuse of sexual jokes sorry, but essentially a long one-shot, inspired by day6's title track, side 2jae, split into two chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnzie/pseuds/brynnzie
Summary: Mark is socially awkward, and Jinyoung has a secret to hide. Their fates begin and end at "hi, hello".





	1. Part 1/2

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at summaries so please, just enjoy the actual fic (I hope you do)

Mark Tuan thinks he has social anxiety. Everyone tells him he is perfectly normal, except he is closer to an epitome of an awkward potato rather than a social butterfly. But Mark is almost certain his problems extend beyond the personification of the starchy stem vegetable. He doubts anyone else understands how it feels to have hyperawareness of his surroundings, specifically of people around him. A slight raise of a single eyebrow sends him into frenzy, for fear that he had said something wrong. An involuntary twitch of the lips translates as a look of contempt in his head, and he would spend the whole day feeling down in the blues, then wake up in the depth of the night, relieved to find himself drenched in cold sweat, in a dishevelled state, alone. Because nothing is worse than having tens and hundreds of people whispering about him, snickering behind his back, just like in his nightmare.

 

His only friend in college is Jackson, whom he thought he could count on since they were both international students studying in a foreign place – Seoul, South Korea. _Oh, he thought wrong._ Jackson is great, an amazing individual really. He is ambitious, fencing champion and claim-to-be rapper, beatboxer, dancer… The list goes on. He is also loving, filial to his parents and loyal to his friends. Mark doesn’t have a problem with these fantastic aspects of his friend, but he will swear upon his life that if he knew Jackson Wang is a complete looney, he would have fled to the other end of the world when they first crossed paths. It is too late now. Between having to stick to a nutcase and having to deal with school _alone_ , he will still choose the former, the lesser of the two evils.

 

“One sheep, two sheep. Why do we count sheep? Why not cats or… mice? Why are mice afraid of cats? Is it because cats are bigger than mice? Then why are elephants afraid of mice when they are so much bigger than them?” Jackson rambles on thoughtlessly, his feet tapping against the table they are propped on in erratic rhythm. Mark wishes he could at least keep to a steady tempo and not mess with his inner pulse.  

 

“I’m exhausted, Jackson. I need tons of energy to process the _intelligence_ coming out from your mouth,” Mark sighs. It is 2.35am. He should be typing furiously on his laptop by now if he wants to meet the deadline for his essay due tomorrow, yet he finds himself staring blankly at the screen, the bright light splintering painfully in his vision. When he closes his eyes, his head spins and he sees a luminous red. He is in dire need of a break.

 

“You sure you don’t need help? Markie-pooh? Reminder that I am a musical genius even though I major in sports? Hello?”

 

Mark can see it coming: the braggadocio.

 

“You know, there was once I wrote an essay for Bambam because he was too lazy to do it and when he got back his paper, he didn’t talk to me for a week! Don’t you think it must have been because I did so well that he got jealous?” Jackson pauses to let out a conceited snicker. “Ha! Poor Bambam!”

 

 _Is he being serious?_ Mark shakes his head, but decides to humour his friend just for the sake of his mental health; a second more of looking at the computer screen would likely lead to his brain’s combustion.  “Okay sure, _genius._ Please enlighten me on the impact of minimalism on popular music.”

 

“The impact of minimalism on popular music? Simple!” Jackson claps his hands together in determination, before pausing like a freeze frame when he rethinks the question. “Uh, what is minimalism?” 

 

On a usual day, Mark would roll his eyes and attempt a sarcastic comeback, but he simply looks away today. The long night has taken a toll on him and he is dog-tired. As time continues to pass, he is beginning to feel the desperation creeping up his gut. He cannot afford to fail this essay, unless he is willing to ship himself back to Los Angeles where he would crumble in the outspoken culture. “I can’t do this anymore,” he groans, slamming his head, face-down, onto the keyboard.

 

“Hey, don’t give up!” Jackson shakes Mark’s shoulder affectionately. “How about you ask Jaebum hyung about it? I have his number!”

 

As if someone poured boiling water over his head, Mark jumps, his knees colliding with the desk in the process. He nevertheless manages a weak call of rejection before wincing in pain. “Please, Jackson, don’t.”

 

He knows who Jaebum is as they are both music majors, but that is beside the point. He will not even peg themselves as acquaintances; they were more like humans in the same lecture hall at the same time. Apart from his severe phone anxiety, asking someone he hardly knows for help sounds like a terrible idea and he can already feel his stomach churn in nervousness. In conclusion, calling Jaebum in the middle of the night was a recipe for disaster, at least for Mark.

 

“Oh come on, don’t worry. I’ll ask on your behalf,” Jackson suggests, and Mark’s eyes light up. That doesn’t sound too bad. If he doesn’t have to exchange words directly with Jaebum, Jackson is more than welcome to make that call and save his sorry ass from drowning in misery. “But,” the younger continues, a smirk creeping up his face. “There is something you need to do in exchange.”

 

* * *

  

Of course, Mark should have known that Jackson’s largesse came with strings attached. The list of key points he got from Jaebum that contributed to his sloppy (but at least, completed) essay seems absurdly attainable now, though he assumes he would be too desperate the night before to think twice about accepting anyway. What’s done is done. He finds himself sitting in a bar, _The Blue Velvet,_ the next evening, squashed in between an over-excited Jackson and an unimpressed Jaebum, whose proximity with Mark triggers alarm bells in his head, screaming _“Stranger Danger!”._

“So, what is the purpose of this awkward gathering?” Jaebum ponders out loud, more unconcerned than anything. But Mark gulps in fear, his mind’s useless reasoning deciding that it is a passive-aggressive comment. He opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. Thank the heavens that Jackson has heard Jaebum speak, as he laughs in response. “You think it’s awkward? Things are about to heat up! When Mark finally says hi to a stranger in this room!”

 

 _What?_ For a moment, Mark thinks he acquired a hearing disability. _What did he say?_

“Huh, I don’t get it,” Jaebum deadpans, “how is that exciting in any way? And is my list of key points for the essay _really_ worth that little?” Mark feels a hesitant glance in his direction from Jaebum, and he freezes up like a statue, only his eyes calling out to Jackson in a cry for help.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Drinks are on me today! Mark thanks you for your help and is willing to give you a show on how he is going to hit up a stranger for the very _first_ time!” Jackson announces so exuberantly, it feels unsettling.

 

While Mark trembles under his skin, still dumbfounded by the situation he is in, Jaebum widens his eyes. He seems to be genuinely amazed for a moment to find out Mark’s apparent inexperience in saying hello to people, and as Jackson picks up his wallet and doles out cash for drinks like a husband to a spendthrift wife, he buys the strange proposal of a thank-you gift. “Okay then, Mark, who are you going to talk to?”

 

If it were only Jackson, he would have slapped him across the face and stormed off. He is comfortable with Jackson; they have seen each other in all states, good or bad – mostly bad, embarrassing and ugly moments – and he feels comfortable enough to at least express his frustrations with the younger. With Jaebum though, it is a different story.

 

Mark tries to keep his thoughts under control but they break free into an explosion of utter chaos. _What if he thinks I am a spoilsport if I disagree? What if he tells everyone in music class about this? What if I become the trash of the school from all the rumours that will be spread about me?_ Anyone would dismiss these ridiculous thoughts, but to Mark, they are like poison seeded in him, growing slowly but steadily and eventually engulfing his entire being, rendering him powerless. The fact that he does owe Jaebum immensely, coupled with those fierce eyes of his that look so sharp that they can slice his hands off, Mark reckons he does not have the means to leave a bad impression.

 

As if Jackson has made tormenting Mark his life mission, he proceeds to suggest potential candidates for his conversation-starter debut. “How about that girl over there? She seems cute!” _No girls please,_ Mark prays. Girls are strange creatures, always in their own bubble of squeals and giggles, yet sometimes spit fire and engage in violent hair-pulling fights like real bitches. In other words, girls are dangerous.

 

“Hmm, or how about that guy there?” Jackson pipes, his voice quivering with true excitement. Asking him to calm down today will be equivalent to asking a fire not to burn. “Oh!” he exclaims, pointing towards a huge, beefy guy sitting at the corner of the room. “Isn’t that Rick from the hockey team? Oh my god Mark, I remember him saying he has a crush on you!”

 

Mark literally shudders as he makes eye contact with Rick. The big guy flashes a sleazy smile, throwing him a wink that can be mistaken for a muscle spasm, and Mark feels bile rising his throat. If he tries to focus on him in a sexual light, all he gets is a repugnant miasma of sour-smelling shirts and muscles gone too far and dirty socks… as erotic as an old football coach. _Gross._

Since he is already down to this point, reluctant as he is, Mark decides that if anything can possibly get worse it is because Jackson has a say in it. “I will d-decide on m-my own,” he stutters.

 

Those words don’t feel like his own, and he thinks he feels an out-of-body experience when Jackson pushes him away from the safety of their table. Along the wall is every hue of amber liquid in their inverted bottles, and aged framed mirrors reflecting what little light there is in the dim space, everything mashed up in a hue of rustic brown. Perhaps he is feeling tipsy from the booze he has downed, as the sparkle from every pint in his way form stars in his already blurred vision.

 

In his daze, his body instinctively veers away from loud conversations and noisy clinks of glasses, and he ends up at the opposite end of the bar where it is dark and quieter, music more muffled, as though he just stepped into a pool of water. He sees a figure crouched over the bar counter, with a dozen of empty shot glasses lined up haphazardly at the side. He will never admit it, but his curiosity is piqued, just a little, as he wonders what happened to the lonely guy for him to drown himself in alcohol. However, the thought is fleeting, as he gets distracted by the horrible, erratic thumping in his chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside his ribcage and beating itself to death. 

 

Mark walks towards him, for some reason having to drag his legs that seem to cling onto the ground nervously. He gets closer, and closer, until the guy’s presence encompasses his surroundings. _This is crazy. I am crazy._ He takes in a deep breath as he hovers his hand above the stranger’s shoulder, trying to ignore the heat that is already creeping up his neck. _It’s now or never._

The confident tap on the shoulder he initially planned ends up as a timid poke with a single finger, but it does the job anyway. The stranger turns his head half-heartedly, and Mark sees his face for the very first time. He appears as a simple kind of guy, likely also a college student, clad in a humble striped shirt, with his hair black and poker straight. But what catches Mark’s attention are those eyes of his, which he thinks can possibly be beautiful and sparkly in the light but where they are right now, they are enigmatic, obscure, glassy as though he has been crying.

 

Mark remains silent as the man before him blinks away his tears that were once threatening to fall. As their eyes meet again, Mark stares deep into the stranger’s eyes for some clue, anything that can hint to him on what is appropriate to say, but it is like nothing is there to behold; his eyes are just an endless depth of ink, sorrow, and pain.

 

“H-hi?” Mark begins, his face heating up with embarrassment from stumbling on perhaps the simplest word on Earth. The man before him pays no attention, like he is stuck in his own world, taking another swig of hard whiskey. _Was I too soft? Did he not hear me?_

 

“Hello,” he tries again, this time sounding more resolute, at the expense of his clenched fists turning white against his black jeans. The stranger looks at him this time, expressionless, but Mark can feel him thoroughly searching his soul. It lasts a few seconds, but feels longer than an eternity, and despite the music playing softly in the background all that Mark can hear is the deafening silence between them. He wishes he has his hoodie worn backwards; having a hood to cover his pathetic, flustered face then would be a great help.

 

“I-I-I’m Mark,” he blurts, shoving his hand in front of his new acquaintance. Everything feels like it is going right, until he realises his eyes are squinted shut and his fingers are in contact with the man’s chest. _Oh, fuck._ He draws his hand back in the blink of an eye and buries it in his pocket, determined to never let it see light again. Then, as if it will cost him his life, he cautiously sneaks a peak at the ever-silent man, fishing for a reaction.

 

Mark’s heart skips a beat as the stranger smiles – not exactly at him – a sweet, unfocused smile, quite impersonal, as if he was a waiter in the bar. “Jinyoung,” he says. And it ends there.

 

The next thing Mark remembers is him stumbling back to his table, practically delirious, his face burning under Jackson and Jaebum’s collective gaze of cool, curious solicitude. “So, how did it go?” Jaebum asks, while Jackson occupies himself by grinning and dancing rather provokingly behind him.

 

Mark doesn’t answer the question. He exits the bar alone and walks home that night.

 

Even in his alcoholic stupor, he cannot get rid of that experience in his head. It is like a nightmare on replay, his memory deliberately tormenting him with perhaps the most embarrassing moment of his life. He moves relentlessly over the night, back and forth across his room, straining to remember exact words, telling inflections, any subtle insults or kindnesses he might have missed, and his mind – quite willingly – begins to supply various distortions.

 

 _Why did he look at me like that? Why did he not want to continue the conversation? What did I do wrong?_ He is sure all he said was “hi” and “hello”. _Was that offensive? Or was it my tone? My facial expressions?_

Exactly what sins had he committed in his past life, to have someone he just met be the main lead of an incident that tops his personal Hall of Shame? People would be reminding him of this as he eats his mush in the nursing home. There is nothing for it, he would have to leave Korea, cast off his identity and start a new life somewhere else; if only any place on Earth could forgive him of his shameful past (he is not ready to invest in a spaceship).

 

Mark almost suffocates to his death from hiding under his blanket when Jackson barges into their shared room and saves his life. The younger literally drags his mummified friend to the end of the bed, letting him drop to the floor with a painfully loud thud, where he rolls out like a broken burrito, sprawled on the ground in an awful mess.

 

“Earth to Mark? Ring ring! Is Mark in?” Jackson shouts into Mark’s ear mercilessly as he pulls him by the shirt to an upright position, but to no avail. The elder slumps over like a spineless slug, staring at the floor, unblinking. “What happened? Why are you acting like this?”

 

No response.

 

“Did he curse you out? Or hold a knife to you? Did he take your money? Oh gosh, or was he a spy? Did you accidentally interrupt his James Bond mission?” Jackson babbles on, his questions getting more absurd by the second. Mark looks at Jackson with a face full of dread. He wishes it was that simple. Whether it was some gangster attitude, mugging activity or 007-esque drama he had to deal with, it would make so much more sense than what he had experienced. _Jinyoung?_ That is just a name. _What the heck is that supposed to mean?_

“Omona, he didn’t…” Jackson gasps upon seeing Mark’s sunken, soulless eyes, then lowers his voice into a keen whisper. “He didn’t make a move on you, did he? You know, did he grab your ass or your–”

 

“Gosh, no!” Mark exclaims, raising his voice louder than he expected. His pale skin slowly turns from a ghastly white to a shade of a ripe strawberry, and Jackson eyes him suspiciously. He crosses his arms and throws Mark an expectant look. “So? Tell me what happened?”

 

 _Never,_ Mark tells himself. His lips are glued shut, forever. It is a secret he will bring to his grave and there is no way he will let Jackson’s big mouth announce it to the whole world. However, as the night deepens, his resolve is shaken. Maybe telling Jackson would have unloaded a burden off his mind. Maybe it would have allowed him to at least doze off a little, and not watch, with bloodshot eyes, the second hand of the clock crawl in circles and tick in resonance with the one word that keeps ringing in his head.

 

_Jinyoung. Jinyoung. Jinyoung._

The name lingers, stubborn like a curse, nagging over and over like a mantra. Never had he longed for the oblivion of sleep more than tonight. Mark makes many futile attempts to trick himself into dreamland – recounting the entire multiplication table, breathing in and out slowly like yoga gurus do on TV, even holding his breath to induce drowsiness – but none of them work. As a last resort, he tries counting sheep… and cats and mice and elephants, but soon enough, the animals are reminding him of his blunder and he lies on his bed defeated, soaking in all their laughter (bleating, meowing, squeaking and trumpeting amusement to be exact).

“Can you stop flipping and turning up there? It feels like an earthquake is going on above me and I’m going to be buried alive any moment,” Jackson grumbles from the lower bunk bed.

 

“Sorry, I can’t fall asleep,” Mark half-heartedly apologises. He is the one having a hard time here, and it is arguably Jackson’s fault.

 

“Obviously,” Jackson says, making extra effort to sound upset since he cannot roll his eyes at Mark, “because of whatever reason you are refusing to tell me.”

 

“N-nothing happened, okay? I’m just tired, I guess.”

 

“See, Markie-pooh, you don’t even know what you’re talking about. Something obviously happened. And if you are really tired you’d be snoring your red, mucus-filled nose off by now. Knowing you, you probably embarrassed yourself by doing something really stupid but what’s done is done. Stop crying over spilt milk and go to bed, you big baby!”

 

“Ouch,” Mark mumbles. For once, Jackson is right about something, and as much as he hates to admit it, it is the hard truth. “Well,” he gulps, eager to seek a scapegoat but at the same time afraid of offending his friend. “I mean, technically, y-you were the one who made me do this s-so…”

 

Jackson sighs. “Okay, fine. I am sorry for making that suggestion for you to talk to someone. Thought I was helping you to overcome your fear of talking to strangers, you know, practice makes perfect? But you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. It’s not like Jaebum and I forced you.”

 

 _Yikes. Now what?_ Mark purses his lips and remains silent. Jackson is right again, nobody forced him. Ultimately, it was his fear of others’ judgement that had overridden his logical thought. He has no excuses.

 

“Just sleep, okay? I don’t care what Mr. Mystery did to you, or what you did to him. I’m sure everything will be better after you wake up. Besides, you’ll probably never meet him again in your life, so don’t think so much about whatever happened,” Jackson says.

 

“Wow, thanks Jacks.” Mark doubts his consolation will be of much help, but the younger rarely sounds that serious and sincere, and he does feel a bit more relaxed after talking to someone, not drowning in his own thoughts.

 

“Ha, aren’t you glad to have a friend like me? I always give the best advice, so you can always count on me, alright Markie?”

 

 _Welcome back, that’s the pompous Jackson I know._ “Yes, yes,” Mark gives a perfunctory response.

 

“Count sheep,” Jackson suggests.

 

“I’ve tried, didn’t work.”

 

“Count cats, or mice, or elephants. Something will work!”

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’ve done all of that. Just go to bed, please.”

 

“Hmm, funny. Okay, good night Mark.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mark feels surprisingly fine the next morning, albeit aching all over from lack of sleep and sporting two Halloween-worthy dark eye rings. His daily chores do a decent job of keeping him busy, and at times when he is lucky enough, he falls into the mechanical motion of doing the dishes or hanging the laundry, and temporarily blanks out, escaping his memory.

 

The “Jinyoung” incident is far from being forgotten, but it sits at the back of his mind, only occasionally popping up when he has too many a moment to himself. Mark is confident he can live with it – dealing with inward shivers and random hot flashes once in a while seems manageable with practice. Keeping that in mind, he does his best to go on with his life. Apart from getting a mini heart attack when Jaebum casually takes a seat beside him during their Music Harmony lecture (thank goodness he barely acknowledged Mark or what happened the night before), his school day is no different from the usual.

 

But you know when they say that when things are going too well, something bad is likely going to happen? Well, that’s not a lie. The only person lying here is Jackson. Jackson said that he will not run into Jinyoung again. Then why in the world is the subject of the matter breathing down his neck?

 

Mark was simply getting his lunch, eager to chomp down on some food since he was starving as soon as his three-hour morning lecture started. He is not a fan of the cafeteria – a cacophony of loud chatter, each table a cosseted huddle of people raising their voices to be heard above the din. Noise repulses him, and he does everything he can to avoid it and humans in general. Like the usual, he ordered his meal from the stall at the right end, not because it is tasty but because there is literally always no queue for the soggy, tasteless noodles. In his opinion, it is a sacrifice well made, his palate destroyed in exchange for peace. Plus, the food server doesn’t ever engage in small talk, which is an appreciated bonus.

 

While the cook adds more oil to the already oily noodles, Mark feels a presence behind him. It is not like the person came stomping towards him or yelling at the top of his lungs, but a faint shadow looms over Mark and he feels claustrophobic suddenly. Naturally, he turns around.

 

He regrets that. It was an action that led to a series of bloopers deserving of that Hall of Shame of his, which unfortunately is going in full swing recently. If only he stayed put and ignored what was behind him, he wouldn’t have to spin around to realise his eyes are five centimetres away from someone’s nose bridge; he wouldn’t have to look up and register that he is staring at none other than _Jinyoung’s_ face; he wouldn’t have been so stunned as to bend back and lose his balance.

 

And Jinyoung wouldn’t have to hold him by the waist to steady him.

 

If we’re talking about getting the best out of a misfortune, Mark could have indulged in the moment and at least finally get to know how it feels like to be a Disney princess, if not for a mortifying grunt that escaped his lips from the force of Jinyoung pulling him up. _How elegant, Princess Tuan._ And where is the poisoned apple? Or the spindle on the spinning wheel? If the ground doesn’t swallow him whole right now, he should at least faint and not wake up until everyone he knows passes away.

 

“You alright?” Jinyoung asks, and Mark frantically releases himself from the strong grip. _Hell no,_ he thinks. Blushing would have been no problem, but what he does is go red as a beetroot and radiate heat like a hot pan. One could have cooked a three-course meal on his face. Nobody could have missed it, especially not Jinyoung, who is only a foot away from him.

 

Mark doesn’t even steal a glimpse at Jinyoung’s reaction. He is too devastated to even lift his head up. “U-uh, I need t-t-the t-toilet,” he declares, and scurries away like a rat with its tail between its legs.

 

Only when he is safely locked behind the door in the toilet cubicle, then he realises how much of a fool he portrayed himself to be. Not only did he conjure up the lame “toilet” excuse, he also forgot to apologise and thank Jinyoung. Now Jinyoung is going to see him as a rude person with a small bladder. _Great._

It is so typical of Mark to have such rotten luck, for Jinyoung to be a student in the same college as him. He can only pray that Jinyoung was too drunk to remember his face from last night at _The Blue Velvet_ , since running into him occasionally seems inevitable now. To add to the “fuck my life” moment he is wallowing in, his stomach growls in protest for food.

 

Whoever said life is beautiful deserves a beating.

 

Mark waits the lunch hour out, and originally has plans to stay in hiding for a while more but Jackson texts him to meet him outside the sports training hall, not forgetting to make a fuss about how urgent it is. He is dying to run back to the cafeteria to get food with what precious minutes he has before his next lecture begins, but drags himself to where Jackson is nevertheless, grumbling on his way. It has been such a tiring day, and considering he hardly got his sleep last night, he is surprised he isn’t already in the hospital for an IV drip.

 

He spots Jackson waving his arms from a far distance away, a glaring anomaly from other calm athletes stretching at the side benches. “Hurry! Mark, hurry up!” Jackson shouts at the top of his lungs, successfully turning heads towards them.

 

“Shhhh,” Mark hushes, lowering his head while throwing furtive glances at the bulky sportsmen nearby, in case one of them gets annoyed and decides to body-slam them with his monstrous weight. “Please don’t shout, Jackson. And what’s so urgent?”

 

“What took you so long? Did you take the tortoise express or something? And it’s urgent because my fencing class is starting in less than a minute and I am dead if I’m late!” Jackson complains.

 

“Sorry I took a while,” Mark says, deciding to leave out the part where he was hiding like a fugitive in a toilet at the other end of the school. “But what has that got to do with me?”

 

“Right. A guy asked me to pass you this? He says you’ll need it.” Jackson hands over a plastic bag, from which Mark catches a whiff of an eerily familiar aroma. “It’s the disgusting noodles you always eat,” the younger continues, pointing to the take away box in the bag.

 

_Oh._

_Okay._

_Wow._

Mark never knew his mind can become dumbfounded like himself, only processing singular words. He stands rooted to the ground, waiting for words to find him. Jinyoung did this for him? _Why?_

 

Jackson breaks the silence first. “Uh, so do you know him? I’ve never seen him before, let alone him with you. He’s not your secret admirer or something, is he?”

 

“No way! What are you talking about?” There he goes again, completely flipped out and hot under the collar. He may be brilliant at keeping his mouth shut, but he is a lousy poker player; his expressions are as literal as a dictionary.

 

“You’re acting weird,” Jackson comments while checking his watch. “Better not be, because I wouldn’t approve someone who encourages the deterioration of your taste buds. Eat burgers next time, Mark, juicy hamburgers that don’t kill your tongue and stomach. I really have to go though, so _toodles_! See you back in the dorm!”

 

* * *

 

After a couple more hours of lessons – which are likely the most confusing classes Mark has ever taken, having only able to pick up ambiguous terms comparable to alien language _(polystylism, indeterminism, stochastic what?)_ – Mark decides to walk back to the dorm instead of taking the bus.

 

A scenic walk can help to clear his mind, he thinks, but is once again proven wrong. As he saunters through the park, he is reminded of the arrival of Spring, the season of love (exclusive of him, naturally). He becomes so dazed with Mother Nature’s lavish display of flowers, the sickening sweet scent of nectar, the butterflies flitting from petal to petal, that everything soon becomes unintelligible: colour without form, a babble of detached molecules. The only thing that is still clear is the fact that he has met Jinyoung again.

 

Strangely enough, ever since the little surprise gift he has received, Mark is less worried about the previous night’s incident than he is curious. Albeit ridiculous, he cannot help but wonder if Jinyoung is really his secret admirer as Jackson had suggested. It would explain the sudden increase in their interactions. How else is such an exponential growth in “accidental” meetings possible, especially since he is certain he hasn’t seen Jinyoung’s face around in college for the past year?

 

Of course, it makes a lot less sense when Mark looks at the mirror, him facing a lame-looking, barely-grown man with sunken cheeks, with legs like stilts and arms like rubber bands – nothing an attractive young man like Jinyoung would find appealing in any way. Still, he guesses that Jinyoung does not recognise him from last night. If he remembers the sheer stupidity and embarrassment Mark displayed, the possibility of him sending the noodles to Mark is _nada._

 

Staring at the takeaway box he has not yet touched, Mark speculates that this is how spies in movies feel: digging for deeper meanings behind innocent objects, making cautious decisions, and certainly not consuming unidentified food sources for fear of being poisoned. It is honestly not far from his current situation, as he is still stumped at how this box of noodles got to him in the first place. Jackson doesn’t know Jinyoung, and vice-versa, so how did Jinyoung know that Jackson is his friend? Also, he wonders how the conversation between them went, but ultimately comes to no conclusion, considering how, despite having met twice, Jinyoung has spoken only three words to him.

 

Like a hurricane gushing into his quiet space, Jackson bolts into their room without knocking. And as Mark looks up he sees that his friend has brought company, Jaebum flashing him a half-hearted smile. _Of course._ He should never have expected Jackson to understand the concept of personal space.

 

“Jackson, what are you going to do with Jaebum in _our_ room?” Mark asks, speaking through his gritted teeth, trying to sound as friendly as possible (Jaebum still intimidates him a little) while throwing just as much passive-aggressive attitude at Jackson.

 

Jackson stares at him with his best “ _what the fuck are you talking about”_ look, which left Mark temporarily confused until Jaebum speaks up.

 

“We’re supposed to do our project together?” he says, throwing his laptop onto the bed. It takes Mark a couple of seconds to realise that Jaebum was directing his question to him, and Jackson is already minding his own business, starting up his gaming console to live his dream of being a hero through _Overwatch_.

 

 _Huh? Since when?_ Mark has no clue what Jaebum is talking about.

“The project which Professor Kim paired us up for in today’s class, which you obviously weren’t paying attention to, considering how you were staring at the trash can at the corner of the classroom and fled the lecture theatre before I could get your contact number,” Jaebum states matter-of-factly, then points at Jackson whose face is already glued to the computer screen. “So, I had to get this dude to bring me to you, _your highness._ ”

 

“Oh, I d-didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Jaebum,” Mark confesses, feeling incredibly embarrassed because he knows exactly what he was thinking of to have missed such important information in class.  Jaebum doesn’t even look at him, let alone acknowledge his apology, and Mark merely hopes that he will not be murdered by the end of the day.  

 

As they break their heads open together for the project, Mark gradually warms up to Jaebum. He thinks he might like Jaebum as a friend after all, despite his icy demeanour. He may look like he is ever ready to kill everyone in his path, but he really just has fierce-looking eyes and doesn’t care much about using his facial muscles. In fact, he doesn’t really care about anything, which Mark is unexpectedly a fan of. It feels like he wouldn’t even care to look if Mark slipped and fell in the rain in front of him. If anything, Jackson is the more vehement character, his lack of control over the chatterbox in him could potentially cause Mark’s pernicious downfall.

 

“Mark, how’s your progress over there? Have you analysed the link between Messiaen’s use of birdsongs in his music and his religious viewpoint?” Jaebum asks out of the blue, causing Mark to snap out of his daydream. _What? Those words don’t even make sense together._ He nods his head dumbly in a failed attempt to appear like he knows what he is doing. However, Jaebum, being sharp as he is, catches the drift and exhales softly. “Let me see what you’ve written,” he requests.

 

Mark rapidly smashes the backspace key, removing the gibberish he has typed mindlessly while pondering about the essay question – evidence of him not focusing on the group project that is likely going to pull down Jaebum’s grades. He is slightly reminded of the fear when he presented his bloodily red report card to his parents in sixth grade as he hands his laptop over to Jaebum.

 

“Not a lot of content but I think the direction is right,” Jaebum comments in all seriousness, then frowns at Mark. “But, what’s wrong with this type? Your lines are more than an inch apart.”

 

“Oh, I triple-spaced it. I think it’ll make our essay look a bit longer if we use up more pages?” Mark almost slaps himself after completing his sentence. It must have truly been a rough week for him to develop a loose screw in his head and have the audacity to spout nonsense to Jaebum, who practically has _NO NONSENSE ALLOWED_ printed on his forehead in capitals. Jaebum is looking at him like he is a rare species in an enclosure, and Mark scrambles for words to justify himself.

 

“I mean, it looks kinda like free verse, does it not? Uh, probably, uh, adds artistic value to our report?” He groans inwardly, not proud of his save comparable to a goalkeeper rolling unglamorously into his team’s goal post with the soccer ball in his arms, but at least he tried.

 

“It looks more like a menu,” Jaebum jokes in return while sporting a look of amusement, catching Mark off guard as he was already preparing for a torrent of abusive words. He continues, “you’re funny, Mark. Catching the Jackson virus, huh?”

 

Not expecting this extraordinary turn of events, Mark laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. “Ha-ha-ha, I guess.”

 

And as though Jaebum can only entertain humour for two sentences worth of conversation, he goes straight back into work, burying his head in the thick books that reek of old libraries. For some strange reason, Mark trusts Jaebum. From their minimal interactions, he can see Jaebum as the type to be able to keep a secret. After all, he looks like he has a truckload of secrets himself.

 

Now that Jaebum seems to not oppose to a casual chat, and nosy Jackson is engrossed in his game, jamming to Lúcio’s cutting-edge Sonic Amplifier with his noise-cancelling headphones on, Mark is dying to discuss what has been bothering him: Jinyoung. Even when he tries to concentrate on work and block out all his impulsive thoughts, his growing curiosity keeps pestering him, until at one point he thought he saw Jinyoung’s face materialise on his laptop screen.

 

Like vomit from a poorly digested meal, Mark blurts out before he can contain himself, “Jaebum, do you happen to know Jinyoung?” The last word of his question – _Jinyoung –_ sounds so bizarre when he finally said it out loud. He has repeated the name in his head countless times in just two days, and now it has rolled off his tongue into the still atmosphere and detonated like a grenade.

 

Jaebum doesn’t seem to see the pandemonium that has broken loose in Mark’s world, and he divulges very willingly. “Park Jinyoung? Yes, I do know Jinyoung. He is a freshman, acting major, just transferred I think. I met him once briefly when I went for Youngjae’s musical,” he says, then pauses to read Mark’s blank expression. Taking it as a cue for more details, he explains, “Jinyoung was part of the directing team for the musical, and Youngjae grew quite close to him during their show season. But apparently, he stopped contacting Youngjae a while ago, so they don’t really talk anymore.”

 

Mark stays glued to his chair, soaking in all the information like dry sponge.

 

“Why?” Jaebum questions.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Mark responds abstractly, waving it off like it doesn’t concern him at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Mark’s personal Hall of Shame was created at the tender age of seven, when he no longer was allowed to hide behind his parents’ backs and use them as exclusive shields against intrusive and meddlesome people – _American parenting, ugh._ Seven was also the age he entered elementary school, where kids roamed around like a hoard of hungry zombies, attacking each other with screams, cries and the occasional flicking of boogers. Not to leave out making fun of the lamest kid in class to maintain their social status in this competitive kingdom of juvenile brats. No prizes for guessing who the “lamest kid” was.

 

Whenever something disconcerting happened, he would sprint home, lock his room door and curl up in a ball under his blanket to have some time alone. He would stare at the ceiling for hours, and write out an invisible diary entry on it to vent his frustrations. The list unfortunately got longer and longer, until they finally consolidated into an indelible, unforgettable Hall of Shame.

 

Mark can easily refer to it and spin out his humiliating past to anyone, not that he ever would. To start, he had his fair share of silent room stomach growls. His stomach always waits until the quiet part of the movie, the silence at the table or any moment of stillness to let its rumbling roar be heard at an opportune time. There was also a time when he gave up his seat on the bus for a woman whom he thought was pregnant, but in fact simply had a beer belly. A strong contender for first place is when he fell on a treadmill during gym class. One second he was running, the next he looked down and he was further back than anticipated. The machine’s speed was too fast for his steps and suddenly he was slammed against a hot, moving conveyor belt that swooped him off it like a humiliating ride on _Aladdin’s_ magic carpet mixed with a mechanical bull.

 

And as he grew older he began to feel more shame for social mishaps rather than just the usual trip-and-fall. That is why first place on his Hall of Shame goes to “ _The Chronicles of Impropriety in the Presence of Jinyoung”._ Chapter One: _The Blue Velvet_. Chapter Two: _The Cafeteria_.

 

Chapter Three: _Fucking Instagram._

It began with him playing detective and applying whatever limited stalking skills he possessed. To make a long story short, Jaebum spoilt him with a clue to discovering Jinyoung’s identity, and it led to him scrolling through Jackson’s Instagram followers to find Jaebum’s account, Jaebum’s to find Youngjae’s, and Youngjae’s to find Jinyoung’s. It took him more effort than churning out a music composition from scratch. He blames Jackson’s thousands of followers, which made the list he had to go through longer than the Nile river. But at least Jackson had the decency to include his name in his username and short biography.

 

Because what in the world of normal humans are @ ** _DEFJEFFB_** and D’soul? From the ramrod posture Jaebum always maintains, Mark would assume his username would go more along the lines of name plus year of birth. And whoever this Youngjae guy is, Mark is infuriated and half serious about sending him for professional help. **_@333cyj333_** is way too many numbers in a word, and Ars sounds like where his shit discharges itself. What made things worse was that both apparently did not know a profile picture was supposed to be a picture of their… profile.

 

Anyway, their extreme creativity in creating their Instagram accounts had him opening profile pages of thousands of people he doesn’t know until Jaebum’s face showed up (thank goodness Youngjae had selfies with Jaebum), and he was beginning to doze off with his phone on his face when a familiar face caught his eyes.

 

An unassuming account with no profile picture –   ** _@pepi_jy__** – was where he found Jinyoung. His feed was reflective of Mark’s impression of him: simple, down-to-earth, yet mysterious. There were only a few photos including himself, mostly from the older posts, where he looked significantly younger, his bright smile emitting pure joy and youthful energy. The more recent posts however, saw the lack of his presence but rather showcased the world from his point of view, from picturesque sceneries to abstract shots of daily objects coupled with poetic, slightly depressing captions.

It also came to Mark’s attention that Jinyoung used to be a frequent Instagram user, never missing a day without posting, yet unusually, his latest post was two weeks ago. It was a grainy picture in black and white, of a list written in ink on a grid notebook. The words “ _Bucket List”_ were distinct enough for him to recognise in a glance, but before he could scrutinise the actual list, his attention was diverted to the caption.

 

 _“In the end, we'll all become stories_.” – Margaret Atwood

 

Mark will never forget the weird pang in his heart upon reading that quote. There was no reason for him to get overly emotional; he barely knew Jinyoung, and hardly grasped the meaning behind the quote. Yet, as if there was an omnipresent force controlling his emotions, he was suddenly flooded by a sense of melancholy.

 

Mindlessly, he rested his thumbs on the photo on the screen, still feeling detached from the surge of unexplainable emotions. It was then that _it_ happened. When he was not paying attention, unaware that Jackson had taken the opportunity to find a prime viewing spot from behind his shoulder; when Jackson hissed in his ear like a snake ambushing its prey.

 

“What are you looking at?”

 

And Mark, in his rush of exiting the application to hide the evidence of him stalking Jinyoung, accidentally double-tapped his screen. Everything that happened next felt like a slow-motion movie. The white heart popped up like a punch to his eye, and the smaller heart below the photo turned red as if it sucked in all the blood from his face.

 

In that mere second, he realises some things. One, curiosity kills the cat and he should remain nonchalant for the rest of his life if he wishes to die in peace. Two, his life book which he optimistically determined as _“The Perks of Being a Wallflower”_ should be changed to _“The Series of Unfortunate Events”._ Three, he regrets what he thought about Jaebum’s and Youngjae’s usernames. If only his username wasn’t so obviously him: **_@mark_tuan_** , he could possibly save his reputation. But “ _if only”_ will always remain a fantasy, and he is in deep shit.

 

Jackson could hardly have imagined Mark looking so unlike himself or so like some extraordinary bird; standing, as he did, speechless, with his tuft of feathers ruffled, and his mouth open, as if he wanted a worm. “What?” he asks anyway, albeit already knowing there will be no clear answer.

 

 “I’m _fucked_ ,” Mark laments, looking incredibly flustered, exhausted and devastated all at once that he thinks he would look better if he was dead. “So fucked, Jackson, I’m fucked through and through!” He has never used profanities in such high frequency, but this awful situation is more than fitting for it.

 

“What for?” Jackson asks again. “Is this about _Jinyoung_?”

 

Mark sighs and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t even try to deny this time; his facial expression pretty much gave away everything anyway. “How did you know about him?”

 

“Well, for starters, let me remind you that I am your roommate and best friend – yes I upgraded myself to your _best_ friend since I’m no longer your _only_ friend, thanks to Jaebum hyung–” he rolls his eyes. “So did you really think I would not notice that you’ve been acting strange lately?”

 

 _Point taken._ “But how did you know about–” Mark lowers his volume to a whisper, as though he is speaking a taboo word, “– _Jinyoung_? I’ve never mentioned anything about him to you.”

 

“You holding a conversation with someone other than me for more that 5 seconds _intrigues_ me, Mark. It’s better than a HD porn movie, how can I not notice?”

 

Mark isn’t sure how to feel about that comparison but Jackson continues anyway. “I heard your conversation with Jaebum hyung. In fact, I lost my _Overwatch_ game for it. Now, don’t get pissed at me because I haven’t even started on the fact that you asked Jaebum – boring, lifeless, Im Jaebum – instead of me!”

 

“That’s–” Mark begins to protest.

 

“–not the point,” Jackson interrupts just as quickly, fanning his hands flamboyantly to cool himself. “The point is I finally know what you’re doing moping around the house like when I stole your favourite underwear! Jinyoung, this _homme fatale_ dude whose name I just heard of, is the owner of the Instagram account you’ve been staring at for god knows how many hours.”

 

Mark tries to say something again, his expression steadily becoming more exasperated, but Jackson is not yet finished.

  
"And here comes the best part,” he continues, pushing up his imaginary glasses, in phony intellect. “According to my calculations based on Albert Einstein’s theory of _‘Just Mark Tuan Things’_ and Isaac Newton’s fourth law of motion – _Mark Tuan runs away and hides in his room when subjected to external force of strangers_ – as well as, of course, my great understanding of you from my profound love for you, Jinyoung is both Mr. Mystery from the bar and the noodles-delivery guy.”

 

Jackson crosses his arms and flashes his flabbergasted friend a smug look. “Am I right, or right?”

 

All that nonsense actually came to the correct conclusion. “R-right,” admits Mark. There is a bitter taste in his throat he can’t quite describe.

 

“I’ll forgive you for prioritising Jaebum hyung over me, if you tell me _your_ side of the story,” Jackson proposes. “So, what’s up with this Jinyoung guy?”

 

It is a good question. Mark knows he was caught up with his concern about Jinyoung at the beginning because he was downright embarrassed at his failed introduction. Being reduced to a hot mess in front of a stranger does not fall down his alley, no matter how much others will convince him that it is not as bad as he thinks. After that, though, he cannot say for sure.

 

It is not like him to feel compelled to stalk someone just because of two fortuitous encounters. It is not like him at all to _get involved_ on his own accord. From that alone, he knows it is not just plain curiosity, but what is it? Fear? What is he afraid of? Of the judgement he will get from liking an old Instagram photo of someone he is not following, of course, but before that, afraid of Jinyoung remembering his incompetency in speech? Why? Technically, embarrassing himself in front of a group of people should make him more upset than doing the same in front of one. Why then, does this incident top his list?

 

“So?” Jackson prompts, raising his eyebrow in expectance.

 

Mark shrugs. “I honestly don’t know,” he confesses, to Jackson’s evident disappointment. “I mean, I said I’m fucked, because in case you haven’t realised, you appearing like a ghost behind me scared the shit out of me and I accidentally…” he pauses to sigh, “liked his Instagram post.”

 

Jackson gasps and slaps his open palm over his mouth – way too dramatically for this severe situation, because he is _Jackson_. “Was it a topless selfie from a year ago?” he demands, his eyes sparkling in a way that irks Mark.

 

“Not funny,” he deadpans. “And no. It is a photo of a bucket list? From two weeks ago.”

 

“What? Come on! That has less kick than the famous Fire Noodles doused in _Tabasco_ sauce! And you know I don’t take spicy stuff for a hundred snapbacks.”

 

“But…” Mark tries to argue but his flow dies in his throat.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jackson assures, though not very convincingly. “When I met him, he looks like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind an accidental like. I mean, it’s not like it’s _fatal._ ”

 

_Not to Mark, it is._

 

“Oh,” Mark utters as he realises they have met in person. Amidst this clutter of problems he is facing, at least he gets to clarify one thing. “Did he say how he knew me? Or you, for the matter?”

 

Jackson seems perplexed. “What do you mean? I thought you guys met at _The Blue Velvet_? As for me, well, he just said he saw us sitting together in the cafeteria once. Now that we’re at this, I was kinda disappointed y’know. I thought that for once, I have a fan.” He scoffs good-naturedly. “Makes me feel worse to know _you_ get a fan before I do.”

 

Mark responds with a soulless laugh. He may look alright, but his thoughts and feelings are so compacted that he feels his chest will go supernova anytime. He begins to theorise that this is all a dream; a long, agonising dream. When he wakes up, everything will be back to normal.

 

“Not bad, by the way,” Jackson comments.

 

“What’s not bad?”

 

“Your taste in men. Jinyoung is one handsome fellow,” he remarks with a playful smirk which Mark is desperate to wipe off.

 

He doesn’t bother to reply. There is nothing to reply to, for what Jackson has casually suggested is absurd. He agrees wholeheartedly that Jinyoung is good-looking, but he cannot even bear the thought of seeing him again for fear he would pee in his pants or perish from overheating.

 

Besides, Jinyoung will never be attracted to an influent, blabbering fool with a bad taste in food and a small bladder.

 

* * *

 

 

The original plan to avoid Jinyoung until graduation day is ruined when Jinyoung shuffles into Mark’s classroom with a bunch of other film majors here for their practical module. Apparently, they are here to – quote their professor – “observe our (their) class and demonstrate the wondrous effects of acting on music expression for four weeks”.

 

Mark doesn’t know what aggravates him more: his professor acting all smiley and speaking in a disturbingly chirpy tone, when she usually looked like she had woken up one spring morning to find that her youth had passed by before she had had any fun, and now turns up for lessons just for her pay check; or the fact that Jinyoung will be sharing a classroom with him for Performance Class for _four weeks_. That’s four weeks times two days times three hours – twenty-four hours! One full day spread out in extensive torture! All the ninja action he was busying himself with the past week, from walking around campus with a hoodie over his head to hiding in the fetid toilets to eat, was all in vain.  

 

After the round of self-introductions (Jinyoung saying his own name sparked off the now-distant memory of when they first met, making Mark’s toes curl up in shame), the eager film majors find their seats, clambering up the narrow steps and weaving through empty seats that reminded Mark of the documentary he had watched as a kid: fire ants spilling in from all directions until they envelop the unsuspecting rodent, biting onto its flesh all at once and injecting it with toxic venom – crowd, surround, attack… Very much like how he was feeling, his personal space infringed.

 

He avoids any eye contact and stares at his notes, so hard that laser beams could have shot out of his eyes, praying to all the gods and deities existent to let nobody sit beside him, especially not Jinyoung.

 

A petite girl grabs the seat next to Mark. She holds out her hand to introduce herself. “Hello! I’m Nayeon. Nice to meet you!”

 

Mark glances at her briefly. Her smile is bright and her eyes sparkling with affection, way too much for him to feel at ease. He returns, not so much of a smile but a reluctant twitch of his lips, then ignores her outreached hand to scan the sea of students in the room. A wave of relief passes him as he spots Jinyoung at the opposite corner from him, way up front. _Thank goodness._

 

Nayeon expresses her discontent with Mark’s attitude with a loud huff, and she mutters to herself a little too loudly, as if she wanted Mark to hear, _“how rude.”_ But it falls on deaf ears, as Mark is too occupied making sure Jinyoung is indeed sitting at the opposite end and not going to suddenly loom behind him like he did before in the cafeteria.

 

Nothing happens between them, but for the first time, Mark can look at Jinyoung for more than a minute without having to escape.

 

Jinyoung was selected to perform an impromptu act to the class to the given music, which happened to be Beethoven’s _String Quartet No. 14_. A depressing piece really, which the composer penned in his late years when he was almost completely deaf and he knew his end was near.

 

The speakers hum softly as they are switched on, then when the strings fall into a wistful harmony and expand into a pensive fugue, Jinyoung takes his stage, sinking into the sorrowful mood almost immediately. It is fascinating to watch, and Mark forgets all the upsetting emotions he had connected to Jinyoung temporarily. He simply gapes at him, allowing himself to get dragged into the black hole of his performance.

 

He would never have pegged Jinyoung to be the expressive type. From their brief encounters, Jinyoung seemed like a “Jaebum” kind of person, albeit a less intense, more peaceful one; both are aloof, with a strong aura of cool detachment.

 

Yet at this moment, Jinyoung stands before him, his speech getting more agitated as the music approaches its climax, his lips trembling while his hands shake vigorously by his side. His soulful eyes become glassy with tears and for a moment, Mark feels like he is in an elaborate illusion and it is just the two of them. Jinyoung’s dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears, and then a single tear falls, at first like it is induced by sheer will and superb acting ability, but it soon becomes so real. _Too real._

The floodgates open, and tears stream down Jinyoung’s cheeks unendingly. He doesn’t sob or wail, but instead bites down on his lip as silent tears wrack him. It doesn’t feel like an act, at least to Mark, whose heart falls a little at the sight before him. He appears truly desolate, as though some profound pain buried in his heart was forced out, seeped into his bones and rendered him fragile and powerless.

 

When Jinyoung collapses on his knees, the class erupts in a roar of applause. But Mark doesn’t clap. He remains unmoving, open-mouthed as he watches Jinyoung get up shakily. Netiher does he hear the applause, being momentarily stuck in a surreal bubble, the last lines spoken by Jinyoung ringing in his very own secluded silence.

 

_“When tomorrow starts without me, don’t think we are far apart...”_

_“Even if it is over for me, it is not over for us.”_

 

* * *

 

For three weeks, Jinyoung doesn’t acknowledge Mark. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right.

 

It is as though he is invisible to Jinyoung, and Mark tries to find all kinds of reasons to substantiate the cold shoulder. Perhaps he is a good student, you know, one of those studious nerds that always end up as the teacher’s pet, and he doesn’t care to waste milliseconds diverting his attention from the whiteboard.

 

Or perhaps he has terrible vision, and Mark’s face is equivalent to a canvas smudged with paint to him, while everyone else looks identical – walking figures without distinct facial features. That would explain how he didn’t respond when Mark ran into him at the door two days ago, when their shoulders bumped unintentionally. No exclamation, no glare, no apology.  In fact, he didn’t even spare a glance at Mark, and simply walked on, never turning back.

 

It is so ironic because less than a month ago, he would give up his life assets for Jinyoung to not recall his existence. Now that _that_ really seems to be happening, he feels betrayed. Betrayed that he is the only one to remember that humiliation, that he has to withstand the full burden of it, when it is what he wished for.

 

Maybe he is accustomed to people reminding him of his faults and disgraces. Maybe he would feel better if Jinyoung came right up to his face and guffaws his head off, calls him names and publicly humiliates him. Life is supposed to go on, but it halts and gets stuck at a red light.  Mark has so many thoughts that they have nowhere to go. The hermetic, overheated atmosphere in his head made it a thriving black Petri dish of melodrama and distortion. He doesn’t know what he wants out of this anymore. All he wishes for now are drugs to induce selective amnesia. It would be almost as good as a time machine, taking him back to the good old days of worrying only about school.

 

 “So, what’s up with Jinyoung?” Jaebum asks offhandedly, creeping up behind Mark so silently that the latter almost jumps out of his skin.

 

Mark stifles a grumble as he removes his bag from the seat beside him, letting Jaebum occupy it. _Is that the latest catchphrase? Why the hell is everyone asking me that?_

 

“What about him? What did Jackson tell you?” he challenges, unable to contain his growing irritation with the bombarding concerns – first Jackson, now even Jaebum, whom he didn’t even speak to a month ago. He understands that they mean well, but it feels like someone rubbing salt into his open wound.

 

“Woah, chill man,” Jaebum says, somewhat taken aback by the unanticipated agitation. “What did Jackson tell me?”

 

“Yes, what did Jackson tell you?” Mark repeats.

 

“I’m asking _you,_ because I have no idea what you are talking about. He didn’t mention anything to me. Well, is there anything I should know?”

 

“Oh.”

 

There is an unpleasant moment of reticence between them before Jaebum speaks again.

 

“You keep staring at the back of his head in class,” he says, not like a question or an opinion but a solid, clear statement, in an articulate manner one would use when reporting the news. With that tone, he might as well be saying that meatballs will be renamed _flesh-spheres_ from today onwards and people will believe him. Mark feels the urge to slap his hand over Jaebum’s mouth.

 

“N-no,” Mark stutters. “I was, uh, looking at the noticeboard.” Gosh, his lying skills are rottener than a decade-old corpse. 

 

“Which is at the other side of the classroom from where Jinyoung sits,” adds Jaebum.

 

“Right,” Mark concedes – _damn his horrendous excuses –_ and proceeds to act like whatever Jaebum is implying is no big deal. “I find his hair… interesting.”

 

“Right,” Jaebum echoes.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Mark, are you interested in Jinyoung?”

 

“Exact– _wait,_ what?”

 

Jaebum shrugs apathetically. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been thinking that since you asked me about him when we’re working on the project. Your eyes seem to be glued to his head every lesson he’s in so I just thought I should ask.”

 

By now, Mark’s eyes are wide as saucers and he is shaking his head vigorously like a bobblehead, hopefully fast enough to veil his burning hot, red ears.

 

“I can always ask Youngjae for his contact if you want,” he adds helpfully. And Mark chokes on his spit.

 

* * *

 

  

 _This is the end,_ Mark thinks. It is their – his and Jinyoung’s (at some point he had begun to associate themselves as a collective) – last class together, and probably the last time they are going to be within ten metres radii for longer than a minute in his life.

 

As the school bell rings, a sense of relief envelops him. Yet, strangely, his gut feels unsettled, somehow heavy with emptiness. It doesn’t line up with any form of logical reasoning, but his feelings hold overwhelming control over his brain in every way, and he cannot help getting affected by them.

 

He throws his backpack over his shoulder and leaves the classroom, his feet not feeling like his as they get dragged lifelessly against the concrete floor. _This is the end,_ he repeats in his head for the umpteenth time.

 

“Mark!” an obnoxious voice calls out from behind him. He turns to see Rick approaching him, his eyes riveted on him in the most nauseating way possible, and he gulps. It is too late to pretend he has not seen the big guy as they have already made eye contact, and being a whole head shorter than him, Mark is sure he would never be able to outrun that hulk-like monster.

 

“Hey, Mark,” slurs Rick. His tongue peeks out like a snake as he licks his upper lip sloppily. Disgusting is an understatement; Rick is vile beyond the standards of Earth, even Devils in Hell would avoid him faithfully.

 

Mark nods at him primly and looks away, trying his utmost best to focus on his shoes. Expectedly, Rick doesn’t back off, inching towards him aggressively until he is too close for comfort.

 

“Where are you going? Should we go together?” asks Rick. Mark keeps his lips sealed and tries to breathe normally, but his nose begins to sting from inhaling Rick’s abhorrent bad breath.

 

“ _Darling_ , you gotta pick up my calls. I don’t think I’ve ever received a text from you. Why? You think I’m not good enough for your bony ass?” he presses on.

 

Mark feels like crying. He wants to fall to the ground, sob like a newborn baby and wait for the orphanage to pick him up. He cannot even find words to call for help, how is he going to defend himself from this perverse, satanic bully?

 

Yet Rick continues his torturous interrogation, grinning happily like he is in the middle of a game and Mark is just one of his pawns. With some preternatural craftiness he always knows the right nerve to touch, at exactly the right moment, to wound and outrage the most. “You think you’re so high and mighty, ignoring everyone in your way. I think I ought to punish you, do you agree, Mark?” he glowers. What is worse is that Mark can see something more in his feral eyes – greed, lust, an immoral desire.

 

As Rick secures a vice-like grip around his wrist, Mark feels someone else’s hand intruding the struggle. It is Jinyoung, appearing when Mark least expects him, like a hero to a damsel’s distress… _like Jackson walking in to him jerking off to his secret stash of erotic manga._

 

Why, just _why,_ must Jinyoung always witness him in his most shameful and vulnerable state?

 

“Walk away,” Jinyoung tells Rick. His voice is calm, and his eyes focusing on where Rick is holding Mark, who is now speechless and dysfunctional. Mark feels Rick’s grip tighten before he peeps up to see the growing fury in his eyes.

 

“I said, walk _away,_ ” emphasises Jinyoung, tone hard and commanding this time. Rick growls at him, his teeth snarling like that of an enraged animal, but Jinyoung keeps his stance, unfazed. With a firm yank, he snatches Mark’s arm away and encases his hand in his own. “ _Fuck off,_ ” he spits, before pulling Mark away and walking in the opposite direction.

 

Mark is unsure how Rick reacted, though he wouldn’t deny it would be a funny sight. A tiny part of him feels victorious, having returned a blow at Rick after months of being agonised. The most part of him though, is trembling beneath his skin.  

 

He has trouble processing the fact that Jinyoung, whom he embarrassed himself in front of twice (now thrice, unfortunately), who ignores him for a full month after playing a one-sided Angels and Mortals noodle-delivery game, is _holding_ his hand and leading him to god-knows-where. _Heaven?_

His heart races like a bullet train, and he is painfully aware of his erratic heart beats pulsing against Jinyoung’s palm. He rationalises that it is due to the brisk footsteps they are taking, that it is the result of him skipping gym all the time, but deep down he knows more than anyone that that is not true. However, he can’t quite put it in a sentence. It is complicated, really, like he is thrown a book of math formulas to solve an equation that isn’t even there.

One thing he realises for sure though, is that Jinyoung inflicts on him a spell, like some kind of magical trick that transports the two of them to a world of their own. He doesn’t see his surroundings when Jinyoung is in frame. Everything appears blur and vague, like he is looking through a dense fog and Jinyoung is the light, not shining bright but glowing warmly like a jar of fireflies. Like now, when they are wandering through the complex corridors. He doesn’t see where he is going, he simply follows.

 

“Are you alright?” Jinyoung asks, voice laced with concern. It snaps Mark back to reality and he is suddenly conscious of their current position, standing face to face, with hands still connected. Abashed, he removes his hand, severing the only physical link between them, leaving only Jinyoung’s burning gaze on him. It is nevertheless enough to make his fingers curl up in shyness instantly.

 

“Uh, y-yes. I think. Yes,” he stammers. His hands find their way into his pockets, where they dig into his thighs inconspicuously. “I-I’m sorry and I, uh, t-thank you for just now.”

 

“You’re welcome,” replies Jinyoung. He smiles again, the same distant, unfocused smile as he showed during the first time they met. He always looks conflicted, as though he wants to talk but a mafia watches over his every move, like his words hold a weight that is exchangeable for his life. Mark would ask, only he is down with a “ _404 Not Found”_ and can barely stay up on his own two feet, let alone continue the conversation.

 

He returns a tight-lipped smile, more out of courtesy than of genuine exchange of happiness. But before he can think of what to say next, Jinyoung nods goodbye and turns to leave on his own accord. He is however, unprepared for the tumultuous fight in his way.

 

A colossal silhouette, which anyone can tell belongs to Rick, lumbers towards them. He dips his head and butts it into Jinyoung’s stomach, drawing a wince. The bull-like proceeding, besides that it is unquestionably to be regarded in the light of a liberty, is particularly disagreeable with Mark. As he catches Jinyoung from the impact, a spark is ignited in him and anger boils in his gut. Rick has no right to do this to them; in his own deformed reasoning he might have, but in Mark’s eyes it is truly unacceptable.

 

He was the one who started harassing Mark, and he was the one over-stepping boundaries. Yet, he decides to bear a grudge like a prepubescent boy and _fight physically_? What century are they living in? That’s not all, because of his immature sentiments from not getting what he wanted, he takes it out on _Jinyoung_? Why not to him, who ignored his calls and approaches, who regarded him with chill distaste? Why Jinyoung? He did nothing wrong!

 

“What the hell? Rick! Stop it!” shouts Mark. He never raises his voice in public, never in his life, but his rage is propelling him to do insane and irresponsible things. A crowd gathers, moving in like a multi-headed beast that shared only one brain, their thoughts in lock-step as much as their feet, all with increasing interest in a probable fistfight. The Mark an hour ago would bury his head in the ground under the scrutiny of so many people, but those people are non-existent in his state of mind now. His vision is a one-way course with Rick in the way, and Rick must go.

 

He badly wants to throw himself at Rick and shower him with punches. It would feel so satisfying, even if he ends up with broken bones. However, Jinyoung pulls at his shirt beseechingly, his eyes imploring for Mark to let it go.

 

“ _Wow,_ ” gloats Rick. He steps back, propping his hands on his hips in a smug façade. “I never knew you can shout, Mark. I never knew you can get angry. But what can you do to me? It’s _your_ fault for looking down at me in the first place! What will you do to me, huh?”

 

Rick glares at Mark like he is the victim in their situation. With a brazen attitude, he motions to the crowd, gathering opinions that support his apparently “impeccable” plea. In his head, this is a victory already. In his warped logic, Mark’s anger means he is right. But, just because he keeps his cool doesn't prove the veracity of his _bullshit_ argument. He is just coolly wrong.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous! I saw you attack them first!” a girl accuses bravely, pointing at Rick with confidence. The crowd murmurs with discussion, a few lone voices exclaiming “yeah!” in agreement with the whistle-blower.

 

Rick is ticked off by the dissent in the spectating crowd, and he rolls up his sleeves in response, putting his fists before his face to signal his desire to fight.

 

Jinyoung, having noticed that Mark is still seething and agitated, steps in front of him before guiding him out of the circle of attention, taking careful steps away from Rick, who is dancing backwards and forwards in a manner quite unparalleled within Mark’s limited experience.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rick howls, obviously displeased at their reaction. Mark can sense an increased urgency in Jinyoung’s footsteps as he quietly gets dragged along.

 

However, Rick doesn’t take a walkout as an answer. He snatches an iced coffee from an innocent bystander, and hurls it towards them like a snowball. It hits Jinyoung right in his chest, the dark liquid bleeding across his once-pristine white shirt while ice cubes puddle at his feet. Mark gasps in shock, as do many others in the crowd. It is such a petty move, and Jinyoung certainly does not deserve that. On the bright side, it got the crowd booing and surrounding Rick like an angry mob, giving them some space to disappear quietly.

 

When they finally got to a quiet corner is when the severity of the situation hits Mark. Jinyoung got head-butted and drenched in coffee in the eye of the public, all in return for his kind help which Mark never requested for. He is grateful, eternally indebted to Jinyoung, but at the same time inordinately flustered and apologetic.

 

He tries to be useful, rushing to the washroom to retrieve toilet paper to dry Jinyoung off, despite not knowing where to place his hands. After all, feeling up a body in a wet shirt is inappropriate, whether toilet paper plays a part in the circumstance or not. Blushing from a complex mix of emotions, Mark apologises profusely again.

 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that would happen! Rick is an absolute shit head and you didn’t deserve any of that! Are you okay? Your shirt is ruined, gosh. I am so, so sorry! I am so sorry!” He is rambling recklessly, not thinking straight. It is funny how a coffee bomb opened his vocal cords that didn’t seem to be functioning all the other times he was with Jinyoung.

 

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jinyoung assures, with a lackadaisical tone once again. At least, in slight consolation for Mark, he does not seem to be angry or annoyed. At most, he is a little stunned and confused from what had happened.

 

“I am so sorry, really, you have no idea. You didn’t have to get involved, you didn’t have to step in–”

 

“I wanted to,” interrupts Jinyoung, and Mark is caught off guard. His cleaning hands halt their work for a moment.

 

“But why?” he thinks aloud, flinching as he realises his personal question is announced for the world to hear.

 

“I wanted to,” Jinyoung repeats.

 

 _That’s… nice of him._ Jinyoung may seem like an empty shell, in some ways similar to Mark – distant, unsociable, hard to approach – but worse, but Mark detects a kind-hearted soul behind his frigid exterior.

 

“Still, thank you. Um, your shirt is ruined, gosh.” Mark scratches the back of his head, darting his eyes anxiously everywhere except at Jinyoung. “I’ll wash it for you as an apology,” he offers, “so please pass it to me after you’ve changed? I don’t know what else to do for you.”

 

“Actually,“ Jinyoung clears his throat, blinking awkwardly. “I don’t live in the dorms, and I have an important meeting later so...”

 

Mark meets his eyes and sees a forlorn request for help.

 

“I was thinking if you can possibly lend me a shirt? We seem to be about the same size so I think your shirts will fit nicely. Sorry if it’s inconvenient, but my meeting later is really important.”

 

Mark finds no reason to reject. As a matter of fact, he finds ten other reasons on why he is obliged to help Jinyoung. Somehow, their fates turn out this way and the next thing he knows, Jinyoung is tailing him like a stray puppy to the dormitory.

 

On the way, the security guard at the entrance shoots Mark a look of suspicion, then chuckles heartily at his wild and vivid imagination. He is obviously mistaken about something. And it is just Mark’s luck that Jinyoung turns to look at the security guard at that untimely moment when the latter brings his hands into a vulgar gesture and winks impudently. The both of them are aware of the suggested innuendos, but choose to feign ignorance, to prevent the atmosphere from being awkward, to getting intolerable.

 

As they enter the room, Mark is taken aback by the mess before them. It is like a tornado dropped by to wreak havoc (* _coughs* Jackson)._

“S-sorry for the mess,” Mark apologises. He seems to be begging for Jinyoung’s pardon for everything, so much he might as well have been on his knees the whole time. “Hold on for a moment while I find something that fits you.”

 

Jinyoung nods to acknowledge, then walks towards the small window beside the bunk beds. Either he is extremely polite to not nose around, or he simply cannot be bothered to. He gazes into the distant scenery, hands clasped behind his back, oblivious to the jangle of clothes-hangers and Mark’s clumsy fumbling through the drawers – serene, preoccupied; lost, apparently, in his own abstract concerns.

 

After going through heaps of embarrassing emo printed tees he used to wear as a moody teenager (but now uses as pyjamas), he finally unearths a button-down. It is slightly yellowed at the cuffs and collar, not as blindingly white as the shirt Jinyoung is wearing once was, but it must do. He doesn’t have anything else remotely as formal as it, and he doubts he can find anything suitable from Jackson’s collection of smelly gym clothes.

 

“Jinyoung, is this okay? It’s the only formal shirt I have,” Mark says, handing over the crumpled shirt.

 

Jinyoung stares for a moment, not at the shirt but at Mark, before he blinks away hurriedly. He then grabs the piece of clothing and turns around to remove his stained shirt.

 

Mark tries not to look at him change, but his figure keeps obtruding at the corners of his vision. Even though it only lasted a second, Mark cannot help but notice Jinyoung’s flawless skin on his bare back. He flushes a hot red and attempts, without success, to cover his telling cheeks with his pale fingers.

 

Now fully-dressed, Jinyoung faces Mark and asks, “how do I look?”

 

“Amazing!” is not what was supposed to come out of his mouth but Mark blurts it out anyway, as if his face couldn’t get redder. In response, he burns up like a sick patient with a forty-degree fever and sweats enough water to revive his dying cactus.

 

Surprisingly, Jinyoung beams at him – an actual, sincere look of appreciation and content for the first time. “Thanks Mark,” he says.

 

Mark doubts his ears for a second. _What did he say?_ Silence hangs in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. _He said “Mark”, he said my name. He called me… Mark._

 

“Um,” he begins very eloquently. _Such a great start._

“How do you know my name?” he tries again. He does not recall introducing himself in class, so it must be… _no way_. He bites his lip as he awaits an answer, the truth he is afraid of knowing.

 

Jinyoung’s face is contemplative, slightly apprehensive, and Mark can’t quite read it. He never was able to, but at this moment he desperately needs to. “The same way you know mine?” Jinyoung puts out.

 

It takes a while but Mark eventually got his epiphany. That is why Jinyoung was staring at him like that just now, because Mark called him by his name. He called Jinyoung _Jinyoung_ , not “hey” or “excuse me” or “you” but _Jinyoung._

But what did he mean? The same way? How? On that drunken night of ludicrous introductions? Or through his impure online-predator-like approaches on Instagram? Mark dares not speak, holding his breath in the returned silence, waiting for Jinyoung to elaborate.

 

Jinyoung also holds his tongue, his eyes unmoving like he is racking his brains, formulating for the perfect, inoffensive answer.

 

Very faintly, on a radio next door, a sprightly female voice sings a song about yogurt, backed by a chorus of mooing cows. The two of them remain close-mouthed, listening to the mismatched music – an awkward commercial break.

 

Jinyoung clears his throat. “From the class introductions, what else?” he claims. “I got a crash course on the names of the music majors in the class from the dude sitting beside me, and I remembered your name.”

 

 _Did he?_ Mark hesitates to clarify, instead finds his thoughts actively trying to convince himself that Jinyoung was too wasted during their first encounter and forgot about it entirely, and that he never saw the notification of Mark liking his old Instagram photo. Perhaps his table partner was indeed so chatty and can’t stop mentioning the names of everyone in class that Jinyoung remembered his name, or perhaps he purely has good memory.

 

“I’m good with names. Good memory,” confirms Jinyoung.

 

Mark buys it. There are many factors that possibly come together to prove the claimed statement wrong, but he decides to disregard them all (he is not a scientist for a reason). Ignorance is bliss.

 

“Nice,” he comments. His imagination has supplied him with various scenarios of when Jinyoung would acknowledge him, some fantastical like fairy tales with rainbows and unicorns, though most end with those unicorns transforming into creatures of darkness that will rip his head off in a heartbeat. Reality is, he is not sure how to think of it, at most mundane.

 

“So,” Jinyoung begins again, saying whatever to fill up the stubborn silence between them. “You’re rooming with that friend of yours? What’s his name? The one on the fencing team.”

 

“Right. Jackson. He is my roommate.” He then realises Jinyoung is acknowledging their encounter at the cafeteria, and immediately blushes. “For _that_ , thank you. You didn’t have to.”

 

“Ah, that,” reminisces Jinyoung. “You’re welcome, I guess. The store owner was pretty furious that you left like that – weird, because you’ve already paid – and I merely did a simple favour. I once saw you hanging out with Jason? No, Jackson. And he is quite a character, always bragging that his hips are strong as a bull. He’s hard to miss.”

 

Mark lets out a soft laugh. Jackson is unbelievable.

 

“So yeah I just asked around and the whole world knew where he was. I hope he wasn’t angry because he looked at me weirdly when I passed him the noodles.”

 

“Why? What did he say?” asks Mark.

 

“Oh, nothing. He seemed to know it was you immediately,” Jinyoung notes, studying the photo of Mark and Jackson on the study table. It was taken when they first met in the dorms; Jackson had forced a thunderstruck Mark into the frame, resulting in a comical shot of Jackson with his signature grin plus Mark with a _“crap, it’s the camera”_ face. “You two must be good friends.”

 

“Well, yes. He is my only friend – _was,_ until Jaebum came into the picture but I’m still not sure if he considers me one,” Mark disses himself, and for the first time, Jinyoung exposes his laughter which is refreshing, laced with a hearty rumble. It is such a rare sight it feels as precious as watching a shooting star, as though Mark would never see Jinyoung laugh again like that if he missed this one.

 

“I’m jealous,” Jinyoung says.

 

Mark tenses up. For a moment, he gets hounded by hallucinatory thoughts. Jealous of? His friendship? Is he saying he wants to be part of them? Luckily, in case his thoughts run wild again, Jinyoung is quick to spell it out for Mark.

 

“–that you have friends that can be with you for a long, long time. Having two close friends is much better than having a bunch of acquaintances who won’t even remember you when you all graduate.”

 

“I guess,” Mark concurs. “How about you?” he asks, having to swallow a guilty influx of saliva as he is reminded of the older photos on Jinyoung’s Instagram: group photos, likely with his friends, where he struck off as blessed and elated. “I heard from Jaebum that you’re close with Youngjae.”

 

“Nah,” Jinyoung shakes his head, eyes downcast in regret. “Youngjae’s a nice boy. I loved him, as a friend–” he clarifies, “–but we’re not that close anymore. I don’t deserve such a nice friend anyway.”

 

 _Don’t deserve? How can someone say that?_ Unless Jinyoung did something unthinkable or unforgiveable, why would he say something like that? He doesn’t look like the kind to offend anyone in the first place, less betray a friend. Jinyoung looks… decent. And seems nice, loyal, helpful, kind, conscientious – throw in all the positive adjectives and they all seem to fit his personality. Maybe Mark is judging a book by its cover, but introverts are observant, and his instincts are rarely wrong.

 

Mark thinks he accidentally touched a sore spot of Jinyoung, as he looks visibly more upset than before, lips pressed together in an awkward smile, but his cheeks were not so compromising. He is certain Jinyoung is trying to hide something, but feels no desire to force it out when he sees a sadness lingering around him. 

 

“Don’t say that,” he coaxes. “I’m sure many people want to be friends with you. I would love to be your friend.” _Crap, that’s a first._ His words were the work of his fickle heart, weakened and moved by Jinyoung’s bleak demeanour. His brain will never say that. Not ask someone to be his friend, never. It is, as he envisages, like getting a girl pregnant – the sudden sense of responsibility surges through him like a tsunami.

 

What makes it worse Jinyoung’s reply. At first, he gives a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through Mark. And then, verbally, he is cold, almost ruthless.

 

“I appreciate that a lot, Mark,” Jinyoung says flatly. “I am happy to know that, but I think some things should stay the way they are. I enjoyed talking to you, but I really must go now. And don’t worry about my shirt, I’ll wash it.”

 

With that, Jinyoung stands and prepares to wear his shoes. His expression is stoic, unreadable, and Mark is dumbfounded. _Did he just reject to be friends? Why?_ He is half expecting Jinyoung to burst into laughter and tell him it was a joke, but Jinyoung seems determined to never look back.

 

“Wait,” Mark blurts. _This is weird, this is wrong. What did I do to offend you? Is it because of the accidental like on your Instagram post? Is it because you remembered the night at the bar? Why did you say no to me wanting to be your friend?_ These questions threaten to spill out of his mouth, and he hardly holds back himself.

 

“Can I have your, uh, mobile number?” he asks instead. “That – the shirt, no, my shirt. So we can contact each other for you to return my shirt?”

 

“Right. Okay,” says Jinyoung. And immediately after they exchanged numbers, he is gone like the wind.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Jinyoung is in his meeting._ That is what Mark tells himself to convince himself to step into _The Blue Velvet_ again. It wasn’t part of his plan for a Friday evening, when he would rather curl up in his blanket with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. But somehow, when Jackson asked today, he couldn’t say no.

 

“Surprised to see you, to be honest,” says Jaebum as they meet at the entrance of the bar. He looks nice tonight, exceptionally well put together, clad in a leather jacket, ripped pants and all. It is also the first time Mark sees his hair up (he dares not comment that Jaebum’s forehead is blinding him).

 

“Why? Am I not allowed at the bar?” Mark fires defensively. He has been in a bad mood since Jinyoung dropped by his room, confused and tired from the rollercoaster of emotions in one day.

 

Jaebum chuckles. “You’re getting feisty, Mark. I’m starting to think Jackson has been lying to me about your hermit behaviours. He even said not to expect you to come when I asked him to ask you. Glad to see you, though.”

 

“I know right,” agrees Jackson. “You’re so strange lately. I was so shocked when you agreed to come I almost dropped my pants. And especially since it’s at _The Blue Velvet_ and Jin–”

 

“–shhhhh!” Mark clamps his hand over Jackson’s mouth to prevent him from leaking the whole Jinyoung saga to everyone at the bar. He shoots the younger a glare, which is taken lightly by Jackson who grins cheekily.

 

“Uh, hello? Nice to meet you?” An unfamiliar voice cuts through the chaos. Mark only realises now that a young man has been standing behind Jaebum all this while. In the darkness, it is hard to identify his facial features. But with his floppy hat covering his floppy hair, and him being in a sweater legitimately similar to one of his Grandma’s cardigans, he looks harmless enough, like a pup following Jaebum around.

 

“I’m Youngjae,” he introduces himself, and memories flash back in Mark’s head. By putting two and two together, he realises the new guy is none other than numbers-loving **_@333cyj333_**.

 

Seeing Mark’s unceremonious response, Jackson steps in. “Welcome, Youngjae! To the best group of friends you will ever have!” he exclaims.

 

Drinks ensue – lots of drinks. Mark begins with beer and a Hurricane cocktail, but very quickly, these light alcoholic options prove to be useless in lifting his spirits. He is far from a heavyweight drinker, but boastfully, he rambles off his selection of poisons to the bartender. The strong liquors arrive shortly, from straight whiskeys to sickening, pure vodka.

 

He drinks in silence, hoping that the answer he is looking for lies at the bottom of the glass, and then the bottom of the bottle, and the next bottle, and the next.

 

“Going down hard tonight, eh? Need to talk?” Jackson observes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Mark is in the blues, but for Jackson to mention it first, it must be very bad.

 

“No, I’m just thirsty,” Mark dismisses his friend’s concern, receiving a dramatic roll of eyes in return.

 

“As if anyone would chug alcohol when they’re thirsty,” says Jackson, and Youngjae nods rapidly in agreement and concern. “Something is wrong, tell us.”

 

“Yeah, like you would know, Jacks,” Mark mutters. He is not in the mood to talk.

 

“It’s obvious,” Jaebum points out. “We know you major in music but quit playing us like a fiddle. And of course, you would drink like _this–_ ” he gestures to the table full of empty glasses “–only when something is wrong. Ever heard that when life gives you lemons, you should grab tequila and salt?”

 

“Or stuff them in your underwear, won’t solve your problems but the extra attention is nice…” Jackson adds unhelpfully. From Mark’s blur vision, he can make out Youngjae struggling to contain his giggles.

 

“I hate you all,” Mark complains.

 

“Yes, brat, we know, so spill,” says Jackson.

 

It is so complicated and hard to explain when Mark was sober, but now that he is tipsy, words tumble out easily like someone broke the faucet in his voice box. He talks non-stop, explaining all that happened from day one, digressing sometimes when his emotions take over and even giving unwanted details from the depths of his secrets.

 

Jaebum listens attentively like a certified psychologist, his entitled expression screaming _“I knew it”_ to Mark. Youngjae, despite being half a stranger, tunes in like Mark was a radio DJ, face held in his hands, intrigued. Jackson, on the other hand, nods haughtily to the episodes of Mark’s story that he already knows of. That is, until Mark mentions Jinyoung changing in their room.

 

“He _what?_ ” Jackson chokes on his alcohol and splutters it everywhere. “Mark! What did I tell you about bringing boys to _our_ room?”

 

Mark sighs at Jackson’s overreaction. “We did nothing of _that_ sort, okay? Don’t even dream of that happening because it will not. Because he completely dismissed me when I said I would like to be his friend.”

 

“Wow, you asked to be his friend?” It is Jaebum’s turn to be surprised. Not without warning, for he experienced Mark’s slow warm-up when it comes to friendships first-hand.

 

“It just… happened, I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking but isn’t it normal for someone to say yes to being friends?” Mark says exasperatedly.

 

“Not if it’s you,” Jackson remarks.

 

“Gosh, Jackson. This is serious. You know what he said? He said that some things should stay the way they are. _What?_ What shit reason is that?”

 

“If you don’t mind me chipping in,” Youngjae begins. “Jinyoung hyung hasn’t been like himself lately. Ever since, say, about two months ago. Even when our musical ended, he asked me out for lunch a couple of times, but after that he just stopped contacting me. When I asked him out instead, he keeps giving excuses to reject me somehow.”

 

“You guys went on _dates_?” Jaebum asks incredulously, a little too possessively for simply a friend.

 

“No, oh dear, not that way!” Youngjae assures, after which Jaebum noticeably relaxes.

 

Jackson catches on pronto. He eyes the “non-couple” excitedly and coos, “awhhh, you guys! Updates please! Which stage have y’all reached already?”

 

“Ahem,” Jaebum clears his throat, looking away from Youngjae who is now red as a tomato, way beyond alcoholic effects. “Focus on Mark, Jackson. He’s the main character tonight.”

 

“Yes, help me please. Save me from misery,” Mark deadpans. Undeniably, he feels lighter after sharing his worries, but now what? Who can help him but himself? Only, he is drained from weeks of torment, exhausted from a wacky day; in short, useless.

 

“Well, for starters, how do you feel about him?” asks Jaebum.

 

If the question was phrased differently, on how Mark feels _towards_ Jinyoung, his answers would include _embarrassed, ashamed, guilty,_ even _fear._ However, it is a completely different story in regard to Jaebum’s question. He uses a few seconds to think before answering carefully.

 

“He’s a nice guy. He helped to fend off Rick and oh, for fuck’s sake, he even took a headbutt and a coffee grenade in my place! And he didn’t complain one bit! He is more than likeable, Jaebum. And I bet Youngjae can vouch for that.”

 

“Yep,” Youngjae concurs briskly, but Jaebum shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, how do _you_ feel about him? You, Mark. Your feelings. Do you like him as a person?”

 

“I… n-never really thought about that,” professes Mark. All this while, he has been distracted by his feelings tied to what happened with Jinyoung, but never spared a thought for what he feels about Jinyoung as a person.

 

“Maybe think of when you had a proper conversation with him?”

 

Mark recalls his short conversation with Jinyoung in his room, that is, before hell broke loose. “Hmm,” he ponders, “it was strangely comfortable, I would say. I never could talk to people without stumbling on my words, unless they are my friends of course. But with Jinyoung, even though we just met, I could speak to him rather easily.”

 

“I heard that when quiet people are together, they become more talkative. That’s because the loud ones aren’t there to interrupt, and they finally have a chance to express their own thoughts and share their views. Maybe that’s like you and Jinyoung hyung!” Youngjae informs kindly.

 

“So, what did you guys talk about?” asks Jackson. He is beginning to look bored, likely from the increasing focus on the actual problem and not fun gossip.

 

“You, unfortunately,” Mark says directly at the younger, “but that’s before we went into the whole ‘friends’ issue and got him so gloomy and uptight.”

 

Jackson perks up at the news of him being the main topic of discussion before scowling when he hears it was “unfortunate”.

 

“Now that I think about it,” continues Mark, “he didn’t really talk about himself. He just kept asking questions about me. Whenever the conversation goes to his side of the story, he shuts it down.”

 

“He’s like you, Mark. Maybe he just doesn’t want others to know about his life,” suggests Jackson.

 

“I don’t think so,” Youngjae chips in, disagreeing. “Jinyoung hyung loves sharing his stories. He always talked about his trips back home and how he aspires to be like certain actors or characters in books. I don’t know, it seems weird for him not to share snippets of his life. Oh, and he loves telling jokes as well, though they’re not the best, I must admit.”

 

Mark listens to this fresh material, and it sounds nothing like the Jinyoung he knows. Perhaps it is closer to the cheerier, younger Jinyoung he took a peep at in his past Instagram photos, but it is hard to imagine someone can change so much in a year.

 

“Maybe something is bothering him, and he is going through a hard time,” Jaebum concludes. “Maybe it’s just bad timing for you two, Mark. It would be nice for you two to become friends. If you care about him, or rather, if it bothers you so much, why don’t you offer to talk to him about it?”

 

“To be honest, Jaebum, I don’t think I will ever talk to him again.”

 

Jinyoung is nobody to Mark. He said it himself, that he will not be _friends_ with him. Yet, that statement he just announced feels too much like a painful farewell. Like he is a grief-stricken wife sending Jinyoung, the husband, off to the Holocaust. Tragic, but it is happening.

 

He means what he says and tonight, he is determined to forget everything. Alcohol, sex, drugs – bring them all, because he wants to get wasted. No, he _needs_ to. That is why he agrees, for the first time in his life, to go for a second round of drinks at a club.

 

Jaebum and Youngjae decide to head home early, giving fishy excuses about having work to do the next morning, which Mark doubts because no college student in his right mind would wake up early on a Saturday morning. However, despite Jackson’s constant encouragement for him to join in the teasing, Mark can only think about drowning himself in alcohol and booming, ear-splitting EDM.

 

After a good ten minutes of Jackson acting like a mum to her teenage boys ( _“Don’t forget to use protection, boys! And don’t break the bed!”)_ , they head over to the _Rogue,_ a nightclub with free flow drinks just outside the city, the closest they can get to paradise in their neighbourhood.

 

You know the night is deep when the party-goers are starting to leave. The streets are already full of folks who walk as if the ground is the deck of a storm-tossed boat. Each foot comes to the sidewalk as if the collision of shoe and concrete isn’t entirely anticipated and the person lurches, stumbles. The sober ones stride like the only adults in a party of infants, shepherding them to a car ride home. But for Mark, the night is still young.

 

They enter the _Rogue_ with much difficulty, the bouncer reluctant because of their heavily intoxicated states. But in a jumble of composed reasoning and half-drunk flirting, they got their access.

 

By now, Mark is no longer himself. He is like a once-tamed lion that is finally let loose and tastes juicy, raw meat for the first time. With Jackson leading him, they make their way through the dance floor: sweat and heat, blinking Christmas lights, a dreadful crush of bodies. And then they party.

 

If someone were to video-record Mark and show him his behaviour the next day, he wouldn’t recognise himself. He is clubbing like it is his last night on Earth, with no restrains whatsoever. The music moves him like he is a puppet on strings, his head smashing so hard his brain is in shut down mode, tossing out all thoughts about Jinyoung. There is so much sweat on his skin and not all of it is his, with him grinding against random strangers like a sexually-deprived teenager.

 

Jackson tells him something, he does not know what, for the music is so loud it can wake the dead. He only sees the younger’s mouth moving, in a futile attempt to shout over the DJs’ merciless blast, and then he is alone.

 

The music is like a drug that brings him higher, higher, until his mind buzzes with pure joy. He wants to dance forever. In fact, he can dance forever, until his feet rot against the shiny dance floor and he dies of hysteria.

 

Tomorrow there will be hell to pay, but tonight, the alcohol keeps on flowing in like it’s on IV drip. Being drunk is like Mark’s newfound coping mechanism, and he is not intending to stop, not when he feels good for the first time in more than a month.


	2. Part 2/2

Mark wakes to the revolting taste of vomit in his mouth, and opens his eyes to a dimly lit room. He sits up with much struggle, and a crushing pain pierces through his head, causing him to wince. He recognises the furniture: the desk, the photo-frames, Jackson’s Marvel posters and his laptop by the side – he is in his room, but the heavy curtains are closed. Weird, because they never shut their curtains. Having sunlight streaming into the room in the morning helps them wake up, and they never do on time, always sleeping like the dead.

 

He also realises he is not on his top bunk, but instead on Jackson’s bed. The owner of the bed, as Mark assumes, is the reason for the substantial weight pressing onto his lower body alongside the pins and needles in his legs. He squints at the figure on the other end of the bed, but with his morning vision and terrible headache, he can hardly make out that that is a human.

 

A narcotic heaviness still clings deliciously at his limbs. He groans, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva, before retreating under the duvet. Considering he feels as alive as a fish out of water, he gathers that last night was insane. Although, he only remembers getting into the _Rogue_ , and nothing after that.

 

Jackson shifts at his feet, stirring from his sleep. He asks lazily, “what time is it?” Except, it isn’t Jackson’s voice. It is softer, more high-pitched, and if Mark is not creeped from this alarming situation he would describe it as soothing, like smooth red wine.

 

“Who are you?” he demands as the stranger sits up. His heart is trembling in slight fear, less for the possibility of the unfamiliar young man murdering him viciously, than for that of him having done something he shouldn’t have with him. Especially since the intruder looks so young, almost underage. It could be illegal.

 

“You don’t remember me, hyung?” the stranger asks, ruffling his bed hair strategically to look his best on a post-party morning. “I’m Bambam. We met last night.”

 

Mark stares at Bambam – _such an outlandish name,_ he thinks – and swallows nervously. _Did they…?_

 

“We did nothing,” assures Bambam, laughing lightly, to which Mark stones at. This is nowhere close to funny. He wakes up in the morning with a horrid hangover, loses his ability to recall his memories, and now a stranger is in his room, on the same bed as him.

 

“Just in case you were wondering, which you looked like you were,” Bambam adds.

 

“Then, w-w-why are you in m-my room?” Mark falters.

 

Bambam laughs again. “Well, between you and I, nothing happened. But with Jackson, let’s just say we had a lot of fun together.”

 

Mark cringes. He does not need to know about Jackson’s sexual life, especially with a seemingly underage boy. In fact, he thinks Jackson should prepare himself, in case the cops come knocking at their door any minute. That reminds him, if Bambam is the one sleeping on the bed with him, where is Jackson?

 

“Okay um, leave it at there. Where is Jackson then?”

 

“He is…” Bambam scans around the room and Mark’s eyes follow, only realising now how disorganised the place is. Their shoes are littered across the floor, and left behind multiple muddy trails of macabre, unmatched footprints; their socks somehow find their way to the potted plants, sprouting from them like rancid Rafflesia; and their jackets lump together to form a new doormat. “…here! Look at him, sleeping like a babe.”

 

Mark sees what Bambam is seeing: Jackson sprawled across the floor at the other side of the bed like a corpse, drool accumulating at the corners of his mouth, far from a babe. Callously, he throws the pillow at his snoring friend, and it smacks him right in his face. _Bullseye!_

“Wha-ahh! Pffft! What the fuck!” Jackson awakes with a shock. He slaps the pillow off his ghastly puffy face and mutters a string of profanities with his hoarse voice.

 

“Language, Jacks. There’s a kid in the room,” reminds Mark. He has no sympathy for Jackson now. After all, he is the reason why Bambam is in their room. What happened to the _“no hook-ups allowed in their room”_ rule that Jackson always preaches?

 

“Hey, I’m twenty. A full-fledged adult!” Bambam defends, looking very offended. Mark thinks he must be the kind of kid that goes around showing off the baby shoots of his armpit hair when they start to grow (little did he know they are, up to this date, still non-existent).

 

“Oh, Bambam! You’re here!” Jackson beams. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Not as well as you did, hyung. Your bed is really comfortable though, I haven’t been in such a deep sleep for–”

 

“Wait!” Mark interrupts, not believing his ears. _Are they for real? How can they be talking about the comfort level of the bed right now? What is going on?_ He looks at Jackson and says, “I don’t care about your relationship and won’t haggle over your little boyfriend being in _our_ room without my permission. But, if you were not the one who brought Bambam – and me – back, how did we get home?”

 

Jackson tightens his upper lip, raising his eyebrows like it is a stupid question. “We came back on our own, _duh._ Who cares how? If we walked, it’s good exercise. If we took a car, I probably paid for it so you don’t need to complain.”

 

“So, you don’t remember,” Mark comments.

 

“Ha!” Jackson flicks his wrist, directing a dismissive hand gesture at Mark. “You mean, _you_ don’t remember? Were you _that_ drunk?”

 

“Actually,” Bambam corrects, “we did _not_ get back here on our own. Sorry, Jackson hyung, you really were too drunk to remember.”

 

Jackson pouts, making his disappointment clear.

 

“You’re still cute though,” Bambam winks, and Mark pukes in his throat.

 

“Anyway,” he continues, “I was wasted too, of course, but I kinda remembered a guy bringing us back. I think he was Mark hyung’s friend?”

 

“My friend? Who? Jaebum?” Mark wonders aloud.

 

“I don’t know him, but he came over after you called. You must have had a lot to tell him, hyung, being able to drunk-call for so long!”

 

“I did?” Mark is befuddled. _What did he have to say to Jaebum?_

“Yes, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but it was hard to ignore some parts when you started swearing, and then suddenly, you were sobbing like a baby. You’re saying you don’t remember any of that?”

 

“I don’t! Not at all,” says Mark. He will have some explaining to do to Jaebum later. Being the Buddha of the group, the only “enlightened” one, Jaebum will understand. At least that is what Mark is counting on.

 

Jackson lets out a long hum. “I’m sure it’s nothing important. We’ll just treat Jaebum to a meal to thank him for his _transport_ services. Big guy, strong arms – he probably carried us three at one go,” he says.

 

“Actually, that wasn’t what happened,” Bambam corrects once again. Mark is secretly loving that there is someone to point out that Jackson, a.k.a Mr. _Know-It-All_ , is wrong. “He only carried Mark hyung and left me to carry _you_. I love your guns and abs but, honestly, with all that muscle weight, it’d be nice if you cut down on those protein shakes.”

 

“Nope, you’ll disagree when you see me in bed.”

 

“You’ll be surprised to know how I am not inferior to you.”

 

“Uh, hello? I’m still here?” Mark reminds, disgusted. If he wasn’t in the same room as them, he can bet Jackson and Bambam will be all over each other by now. Also, didn’t they just met last night? If such fast progress is considered normal, Mark guesses he will never get married.

 

“Sorry not sorry,” snickers Jackson. “Anyway, you’d better prepare for a tongue-lashing from Jaebum hyung. Get your umbrella ready, he will shower you with his spit.”

 

“It’s going to be that bad?” Mark frowns, his flesh already crawling at the thought of angry Jaebum.

 

“Um, remember? Him and Youngjae? I am going to assume they were in the middle of some intense copulation when you called,” Jackson shrugs, as if he is saying _“your problem, not mine.”_

 

“What’s copulation?” Bambam asks.

 

Jackson narrows his eyes in disbelief, then pats Bambam adoringly on his back. “And you wanted to impress me in bed, darling? It means to make love, have sex, to _fuck._ ”

 

“Why didn’t you just use _‘fuck’_ then? I repeat, I’m not twelve, I’m twenty,” Bambam emphasises on his age once again, giving Mark a deliberate glare.

 

“Have you seen Im Jaebum? He looks like he has a stick up his butt 24/7. _Fuck_ is too sexy for him. Copulation is about right.”

 

Mark is close to screaming at them to take the wayward conversation somewhere else when the door opens. Like meerkats they turn their heads together to the infiltrator, and Mark almost drops his jaw to the ground when he sees Jinyoung walking in. The conversation quickly shifts.

 

“Jinyoung,” he says, like one would state when pointing at objects in a picture book to teach a kid new vocabulary. There is a moment of awkward silence, as always when Jinyoung is in the same space as Mark. Meanwhile, Jackson switches his focus from Jinyoung, to Mark, to Jinyoung and Mark again, and he lets out an “ah” like he just experienced a philosophical awakening.

 

“ _You_ are Jinyoung,” he says in replacement of a greeting. “Why are you here?”

 

It is exactly as Mark wants to ask, but he is still astounded to the degree of being tongue-tied. The aching in his skull returns, ebbing and flowing like a cold tide.

 

“Hello,” Jinyoung greets, not sparing a glance at Jackson and looking straight at Mark. His voice chills Mark to the bone; he sounds like he doesn’t want to be there. “Just dropping by to return your shirt,” he says.

 

“Oh,” Mark says first. A stunted pause follows before he stands to take the shirt, and he notices belatedly that he reeks of alcohol. His hands turn clammy, anxious for a possible contemptuous comment from Jinyoung. After all, they did not end on a good note yesterday. “Oh alright, thanks. But, why didn’t you call?”

 

There is a glimmer of surprise and something unreadable on Jinyoung’s face. “What do you mean?”

 

Mark blinks confusedly. At the side, Bambam stares at Jinyoung with a sort of intensity that can easily be misinterpreted for a call for a challenge.

 

“Oh,” Bambam says suddenly, clapping his hands in revelation.

 

Mark notices that Bambam has stood up and taken position right behind him. He also doesn’t like the sound of his “oh”.

 

“You are that friend,” he announces. There is a silence, during which Mark feels acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with Jinyoung.

 

“I am that friend?” Jinyoung echoes.

 

“Yes, Mark hyung’s friend that brought us back. You were the one Mark hyung called last night. Am I right?”

 

“What?” Mark exclaims, in unison with Jackson. His head spins and his brain feels like it is swelling beyond the capacity of his skull. It is no longer the effects of his hangover; the sky is, now, truly crashing down on him.

 

“No…?” Jinyoung lies through his clenched teeth. His lost eyes give away his intention to keep that a secret, but the beans are already spilt.

 

“Oh my god, Mark,” Jackson says, making a vague gesture towards Jinyoung. “He is holding our room keys. It is true. Shit!”

 

 _Shit_ is right. Mark cannot believe that he didn’t notice the jangle of keys in Jinyoung’s hand and that he walked straight into their room as though he lived here. He also cannot accept that he didn’t check his call history – which he does only now, fingers moving like a frantic spider, to confirm it is true.

 

“Okay, fine. It was me. But now that I see you guys are fine, can I go?” says Jinyoung. For the first time, he looks just as uncomfortable as Mark.

 

“No!” comes Mark’s impulsive reaction. He needs to find out what venom he spat last night in his imprudence, what possibly outrageous things he revealed, and mostly importantly, how Jinyoung reacted to it. His memories have dissipated along with all the alcohol in his liver, and there is no way of retrieving them back on his own.

 

He casts a helpless look at Jackson, pleading for his understanding to find some occasion, take Bambam away and leave the room. Jackson widens his eyes, contemplating the request, before mouthing a self-assured “OK” to Mark.

 

“Yeah, Jinyoung, don’t leave! Jaebum’s meal belongs to you,” chimes Jackson. _Wrong cue. Brakes, brakes!_ Ignorant to Mark violently shaking his head, he continues to explain, “we thought Jaebum hyung brought us back here so we promised to give him a meal. But now that we know it’s you, the meal is rightfully yours! What do you like to eat? Korean? Western?”

 

 _No. No. No._ And Jackson had to say it so brightly, it is impossible to reject. Not even someone as cold and unpredictable as Jinyoung can resist his glib tongue.

 

“You seriously need to take Mark out to a good restaurant so he can taste _human_ food. Not those disgusting noodles he always eats – oh! You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” chatters Jackson. He is suddenly Jinyoung’s new best friend and they have more things to talk about than the number of words in all volumes of _Encyclopaedia Britannica_.

 

“Um, yes?”

 

“Great! Then you know just as well as I do!” Jackson checks the time on his watch. “Look, it’s already late enough for lunch. I bet you haven’t had lunch, having to take care of us bunch of smelly inebriates – ha-ha!”

 

Jinyoung blinks at Jackson placidly, his eyes balled and heavy-lidded like a tortoise. “You’re welcome, it’s not a problem.”

 

Mark is blown away at the sedate reaction of Jinyoung. He can never understand, not when he is already completely drenched in his cold sweat. Where they are going is crazy on so many levels.

 

“I take that as acceptance for Mark to buy you lunch!” Jackson snaps his fingers triumphantly, at it again with his hero complex. “And you know what? Drumrolls please?”

 

Only Bambam complies, rolling his knuckles against the wooden bed frame, and Jackson smiles delightedly. “I have pizza coupons! 1-for-1 personal pizza! On a scale of one to ten, how good does that sound?”

 

 _Negative infinity,_ Mark thinks, and Jinyoung seems to agree.

 

“I really don’t think I should join you guys. It’s no problem, really, you don’t have to thank me,” he says.

 

“Nonsense!” Jackson dismisses. He is not one to let his original plans stray. Pulling Bambam to his side and snuggling into his neck, not one bit aware of the indecency of his public display of affection, he says, “I have plans with Bambam. So unless you want to see us eat each other’s faces off at the lunch table–”

 

“–no thanks,” Jinyoung cuts in.

 

“There you go! Come on, just go for lunch with Mark or he will be all over me tonight, crying and complaining about how you are ignoring him again. He might not look like one, but he’s a real whiner.”

 

Mark doesn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of his plight or cry because his best friend just threw him under the bus. _Jinyoung is judging him right now_ , he imagines, _he is shaking his head with a throbbing vein in his neck, belittling me and thinking I am a creep…_

 

“Fine,” Jinyoung gives in. From the hundreds of scenes that fleeted through Mark’s mind in that short period before the reply, this is not one of them. They say a planned life is a dead life; to Mark, an unplanned life is a dead _death._

* * *

 

 

The ‘L’ in Mark’s luck is replaced by an ‘F’.

 

Firstly, Bambam is no “full-fledged adult”. He is a baby, a freaking fussy foetus; that or he is pregnant with unstable hormones. He insisted on having pizza, and initially Mark thought that it could benefit him if they end up going together as four. However, Jackson had other plans, deeming it essential for them to be together, minus Mark and Jinyoung. Bambam refused to change his mind. So, the exchange of plans occurred, despite Jackson acting all reluctant as if he was trading world secrets.

 

Mark ends up with vouchers to a fancy restaurant. That means two things: one, he has to sit through a full-course meal with Jinyoung and not just have after gobbling up a burger with fries; two, he cannot just choose to abandon the vouchers given to him because everything will be too expensive to afford considering he is a broke student. Both become unavoidable reasons why he cannot just run away from the _White Day Special_ vouchers Jackson has so _generously_ bestowed him with.

 

Spring is in full bloom and the restaurant is on board with the flowery decorations, from daisies delicately embroidered on the table cloth to the attention-seeking bouquet of roses set between him and Jinyoung. If it were a date with his mother, it would seem more appropriate, because there is something dated and rustic about the interior (he is seriously questioning Jackson’s taste in date venues). He knows he is right when he notices every couple in the restaurant is at least a decade older than them, and is already embarrassed enough by that until a bubbly waitress comes to make things worse.

 

She gushes and speaks with unnerving vigour, praising time and time again that Mark and Jinyoung are a cute couple (they remind her every time that they are not, which somehow tickles her even more) and promising that they will enjoy their “specially designed menu for two”. Then, she definitely outdoes her job by offering candles, chocolates, and even one of those frivolous fruity drinks with spiral straws meant for couples to share.

 

Mark’s stomach feels like a piranha is gnawing its way out of it. _Hohoho,_ he feels festive alright. He barely manages to chase the over-enthusiastic waitress away after shoving the vouchers in her face, and then he finds himself staring at his lap absently, having no courage to look at his alleged “date”.

 

They don’t speak for the bulk of the meal, the only sounds between them being the clinking of cutlery against their plates. As much as he is curious of what Jinyoung is currently thinking, he lacks the capacity to guess because he hasn’t looked at him once. And then, _of course_ , when he looks up for the first time, their eyes meet.

 

It is not like he was expecting heaven to be kind for once, but he still gets shocked as he finds himself in direct eye contact with Jinyoung. A coil of fear wrenches in his stomach. There is no reason to maintain silence now, and they both know it.

 

“I’m sorry,” they say in unison. It brings grudging laughter to finally break the ice.

 

“I’m sorry,” repeats Mark, “that you have to go through all of this because of me. What happened yesterday in school, last night and now _this_ –” The subtle upward quirk of Jinyoung’s mouth tells Mark he is smothering a laugh.

 

“–darn ridiculous situation we are in. I must have brought you a lot of trouble, Jinyoung. I’m truly sorry,” he finishes all in one breath. It is only when he stops talking that he feels his heart palpitating forcefully against his chest, relieved that they are finally talking but also on edge for what Jinyoung has to say.

 

“I’m sorry too,” Jinyoung says softly, his eyes unfocused as if he is reflecting on something. “I take back my words. I didn’t mean it that way.”

 

Mark puts down his fork. “What?”

 

“I mean, I take back what I said about not being friends. You’re great, Mark. You are funny in your own way, so genuine as a person, and you’re easy to talk to. You would make an amazing friend, but I said something so… insensitive.”

 

The shower of praises sparks something in Mark; he feels warm and tingly, like someone lit fireworks in his heart. He knows he will look stupid if he stares at his feet bashfully, but his body reacts that way without his permission. Jinyoung is like wild ivy, growing anywhere it pleases – saying anything he wants and it is never predictable.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t offended in any way,” Mark lies. It is already a challenge to maintain a semblance of normalcy in front of Jinyoung, like them talking so casually is normal after a major disagreement the day before, and he now has to lie to not spoil the mood.

 

Jinyoung chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t lie to me. From the insults you were hurling at me last night through the phone last night, I am surprised you’re not holding me by the knife right now.”

 

“I did _what?_ I insulted you?” It’s coming back at him – the alcohol. He knew it. He knew it will do more than destroy his liver.

 

“Within my knowledge of vocabulary, yes, they were pretty major insults. You mum would have slapped you if she heard you saying those… do people even call them words?” Jinyoung says cheekily. He is clearly enjoying himself teasing Mark, and more than being flustered, Mark is intrigued at this new side of Jinyoung. He sees again a flash of joy, a child-like innocence that is usually obscured by his poker face and chilling words. _Why is he hiding that side of him?_

 

“Oh crap, I’m sorry,” Mark apologises sheepishly. “What else did I say?”

 

“Oh, nothing much really,” says Jinyoung, before transforming into the talented actor that Mark knows he is and he begins to perform his best impression of Mark. “ _You remember me, didn’t you? From when you gave me those stupid, problematic noodles! Why! Why did you ignore me when we met in class? Do you hate me? Do you hate me, Jinyoung ah? Boo-hoo!”_

 

“Gosh, don’t continue! That is so embarrassing!” Mark groans, but soon cannot contain his growing smile as he watches Jinyoung slap the table and double over with mirth. He can never buy a conversation as pleasant as this. It is safe to say that never in his life has he enjoyed himself so much when the topic of conversation is about his embarrassing deeds. The laughter that bubbles between them also make the earlier tension seem so mediocre and unnecessary.

 

As the wave of merriment dies away, Jinyoung morphs back into his stoic manner. “You know, you don’t have to care so much about what others think of you. Just be yourself, before it’s too late to regret.”

 

“It’s that obvious?” Mark asks, and Jinyoung nods without hesitation.

 

“You mean, you don’t find what I do shameful? Not at all?” Mark cannot quite wrap his head around that idea, even though, many times Jackson has told him he is the abnormal and over-sensitive one.  

 

Jinyoung hums and his eyes sparkle. “No, not at all! In fact, you sobbing over the phone is about the most adorable thing I’ve witnessed in a long time!”

 

“ _Adorable?_ ” Mark chokes, bursting into a fit of coughs to hide his astonishment. “Jinyoung, I’m pretty sure I’m hyung to you. _‘Adorable’_ is not for you to say!”

 

“Adorable _hyung_ you are then!” Jinyoung teases good-naturedly. The laugh that Mark lets out feels fuller already. Sitting opposite Jinyoung in comfort feels right. It feels good.

 

The waitress arrives and interrupts their banter. She is here to clear their dishes. As she leaves, she sends an inconspicuous wink to Mark and mouths something along the lines of _“enjoy your_ _day with him”_ , and Mark wonders if that is how they appear to the public: sweethearts on a regular date at the restaurant.

 

He would attribute this to his own mental perversity, some degenerate vagary of thought, a projection of his own desire – because from others’ approving looks and smiles in recognition of them as a couple, the thought of them together brings, along with the predictable twinges of embarrassment and surprise, another very much sharper one of excitement.

 

He catches himself thinking about how nice it would be to spend the rest of his life with Jinyoung. It is the first time he admits to himself his yearning for a relationship. It is pleasing, a sensation akin to a rush of endorphins in his blood. But it is perhaps because he knows it is not possible that he dares to indulge in these fantasies; it is not possible, from what Jinyoung had said himself.

 

 _Some things should stay the way they are,_ he had said. He made it clear as day.

 

“Jinyoung, can I ask you a question?” asks Mark, now used to casually letting his thoughts slip.

 

“Sure, go ahead, hyung.”

 

“Why did you tell me that some things should stay the way they are?”

 

Silence. There is a flicker of hesitation in Jinyoung’s eyes as he looks at Mark, like he wanted to say something but chooses to keep it to himself. Instead of answering, he throws back another completely unrelated question: “do you like dogs?”

 

It is not what Mark expects to hear, but he replies anyway, assuming Jinyoung changed the subject because he doesn’t want to talk about yesterday. “Yes, I love dogs. In fact, I adopted one back in the States. Why?”

 

“Would you adopt a dog, knowing that one day it will leave you, and forget you?”

 

“Hmm, I would. I definitely would.”

 

“Don’t you think it’s selfish for the dog to receive your care and then abandon you like that?” Jinyoung urges. His sincere tone makes even a trivial question like that sound paramount.

 

“Yes, it is selfish,” says Mark, and Jinyoung looks crestfallen right away. He continues, “it is selfish, but that wouldn’t change my mind. It just wants some love.”

 

“You think being selfish is okay?”

 

Mark contemplates for a moment.

 

“Yes,” he says. “I think being selfish is okay, because there is always a good reason behind selfishness. It’s normal, Jinyoung. It’s normal to be selfish.”

  

* * *

 

 

Jinyoung doesn’t ignore Mark anymore. Mark thinks they are at least “friends” now, unless friends don’t hang out together, have lunch together and study together. It is always enjoyable; being with Jinyoung gives him peace and quiet, time to do his own things while having company, a well-needed contrast from Jackson’s ludicrous shenanigans.

 

In their time spent together, Mark discovers some things about Jinyoung.

 

Firstly, Jinyoung loves books. His attachment to books is not that of a mere hobby, but one that is ingrained in his life. The books he read have a vice-like grip on his mind, as Mark realises, his emotions vary greatly with the contents of his books. It is as though their twisted reality distorts his own, challenging the once mundane facts of his existence, bringing him into a new turbulent realm where even his sense of self was up for grabs.

 

There was once Jinyoung was reading Harper Lee’s _To Kill a Mockingbird,_ and by two hours after pouring into the book, he was hopping mad.

 

“This is blasphemous!” he had exclaimed, his vocabulary in line with the timeframe in the book. “The abuse of power by these cruel and ignorant people is unbelievable! They caused this poor black man to be falsely accused and this is j-just… _unjust!_ ”

 

Jinyoung went on to ask Mark for his opinion but Mark only gave a perfunctory hum. He was more charmed by how engrossed Jinyoung was, highly entertained by his furious chatter and reddening face. His strong sense of empathy for the characters is admirable, but his reactions – the way he flails his arms dramatically in the air and goes into a passionate debate with the lifeless characters – are simply adorable.

 

They spend most of their time together in the library, as it is Jinyoung’s favourite place and Mark doesn’t mind it. Rows and rows of books with their spines facing outwards, coded with colourful dots, a potpourri of ideas in harmonious order: it inspires a magnificent laziness Mark has not known since birth. It is placid, cozy, just like Jinyoung’s presence.

 

Every single time, without fail, as soon as Jinyoung sets foot into the library, he makes a beeline towards the shelves, picking books off like they were cherries on a tree which he would consume immediately without any digression.

 

“Jinyoung ah, why are you reading so intensely?” Mark had asked out of curiosity.

 

“I want to finish as many books as possible in my lifetime!” came Jinyoung’s reply, his eyes never once left the words in his book.

 

“Take your time. You have plenty of time left to read books in your life,” said Mark while beaming at the younger in fascination. “You’re barely a quarter into your life, Jinyoung.”

 

Jinyoung didn’t reply.

 

Perhaps he was transported into the reality of the book in his hands, fighting off demons and saving damsels in his reverie, that he had not heard Mark.

 

The second thing Mark discovers is that Jinyoung is a klutz. He does not look like it, but he is extremely forgetful, like there is a hole in his brain and information spews out constantly. Sometimes, he forgets his keys, having to call Mark and chat for hours as he waits at the door for his parents to return from work. Sometimes, he forgets the timings of his classes, always having hilarious stories to tell such as when he interrupted a female yoga class by accident. And sometimes, he even presses the wrong floor button when he visits Mark at the dorms ( _“don’t you stay on the fifth floor, hyung?”_ ).

 

Mark thinks the younger must be swamped with work to forget these minute details. Also, Jinyoung being a perfectionist does not help much, for he would always fault himself when these memory slips happen, chiding himself all day long. And then Mark would have to coax him with barbeque or sashimi, which increasing frequency successfully burnt a hole in his pocket.

 

But he doesn’t mind, because the wrinkles at the corners of Jinyoung’s eyes when he smiles are priceless.

 

Finally, Mark learns that Jinyoung needs his alone time. In this aspect they are comparable, since they are both introverts. However, when Jinyoung requires solitude, he disappears from the face of Earth. No calls or texts, and sometimes he even misses an entire day of classes.

 

It is during times like these when Mark truly apprehends the idiom: _absence makes the heart grow fonder._ Jinyoung’s companionship, albeit a quiet one, is prominent in Mark’s life. If Mark stops to dwell for just a fraction of a second, he is reminded of Jinyoung. He wants to share with him the superficial specifics of what he had for lunch, what happened in class and what he saw on the way home, but he can’t. Ironically, he feels empty from bottling up these stories in himself.

 

It is during times like these that Mark misses Jinyoung.

 

But he doesn’t mind, because when Jinyoung returns and the first thing he says is _“I miss you, hyung”_ , it is like his suffering from being alone never happened.

 

* * *

 

“ _I miss you, Mark_.”

 

“Eww, don’t be disgusting,” Mark growls at Jackson, who has just interrupted his quiet lunch with an aggravating, loathsome confession. The noise that Jackson makes comes from deep within his throat, reminiscent of a snorting pig. He places his food tray on the table and sits beside Mark.

 

“I am being serious, okay. I hardly see you nowadays, it is like some _alien_ abducted you,” Jackson complains.

 

“It is not like me being around makes a difference. Remember when you said talking to me was like talking to a wall?” Mark shrugs. He nudges Jackson away from his side. “Can you sit opposite me? Why squeeze me like we’re a can of sardines?”

 

“Jaebum hyung and Youngjae are coming. And I am extremely disappointed that you find my presence comparable to that of a smelly sardine. I showered _yesterday_ , okay?”

 

Mark scans Jackson from head-to-toe; he is in his sports attire which is still damp from his earlier work-out, his hair still dripping with sweat. “Sure,” he sighs.

 

Jackson grabs a bunch of fries and shoves them in his mouth. “So,” he begins with his mouth full, “where’s your alien? You know, the one who abducted you to the library and transformed you into a bookworm?”

 

“Jinyoung is not an alien. And I am not a bookworm.”

 

“How is it that you spend full days in the library then? You hate books!” Jackson says, then lowers his voice to a hushed, scandalised tone, “and you hate the creepy librarian. You know, the one who remembers everyone’s shoe sizes?”

 

“It’s a nice place. It’s quiet, I like quiet places.”

 

“More like you like Jinyoung,” Jackson teases, and Mark has to stop chewing in case he bites his own tongue.

 

“Who likes Jinyoung?” a voice booms from the distance, so loud it can possibly be from a loudspeaker. The three words jump at Mark like a shark out of water, and his breathing accelerates, thinking the whole cafeteria might have heard that. It all makes sense when Youngjae appears (his voice has a confounding ability to deafen people temporarily), with Jaebum by his side. They join in at their table.

 

“Mark! Who else?” Jackson spouts.

 

Jaebum sips at his drink. “Well, arguably, it could be you.”

 

“Oh! No way! Don’t let Bambam hear that or I might get killed, man. Plus, I’m not the kind to snatch my best friend’s boyfriend.”

 

All heads turn to Mark, who is now blushing from his neck up. “Ha-ha-ha, not funny!” he laughs nervously. But his friends obviously disagree, and he feels them looking amusedly at him.

 

“I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you two are together,” admits Jaebum, “because technically, you guys are already physically _together_ all the time. Although, of course, you can say you are just friends.”

 

“I am disappointed again, Mark,” Jackson pouts. “I am your _best_ friend and your _roommate,_ and I don’t even see the tip of your nose in our room until midnight every day. Nothing close to _physically together_ like Jaebum hyung is saying. Where have you been?”

 

Mark has been at the library – not because Jinyoung is there but because Jinyoung _might_ turn up there. It has been almost a week, six days to be exact, since Jinyoung retreated to his shell to re-charge. Mark, with the excuse of free air-conditioning, waits in the library like a pet dog to its owner every day, hoping Jinyoung would just materialise some day with his usual stack of books.

 

“ _Not_ with Jinyoung,” he says.

 

Jackson widens his eyes in mock horror and amazement. What he said seems to pique Youngjae’s interest as well. “Why? Where is he?”  

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I take back my words about you two always being together,” Jaebum says flatly.

 

“This makes no sense at all. You mean he hasn’t contacted you? How many days has it been? You have no idea where he is?” Jackson grills Mark like he is a suspect in an interrogation room, the firing questions putting him on edge.

 

“He hasn’t contacted me, but he will come back soon. It’s just a Jinyoung thing, okay? It has been almost a week. And no, I have no idea where he is,” replies Mark, increasingly frustrated at the direction of the conversation.

 

“Why? How is that possible?”

 

He doesn’t know. No matter how many questions Jackson or the others ask him, he doesn’t know the answers. Blood hammers nightmarishly at his temples.

 

“I said, I don’t know!” he cries, instigating a stressful silence at the table. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighs, “you’re not the only ones who want to know why he is gone for so long, okay? _I_ want to know too! It happened before, for one day, yes. Three days, maybe. But almost a week? Never!”

 

Jaebum looks at Mark steadily. To him, Mark is as easy to read as an open dictionary. Disregarding Mark’s upset state, he speaks, in a manner similar to reciting a speech, articulating each word clearly for his friend. “Newsflash: you like Jinyoung.”

 

Mark frowns and parts his lips to protest, but Jackson beats him to it by gasping way too loudly. “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it!” he whoops in delight, as if he just won the lottery.

 

When he turns to Youngjae with hopes for some support for his side, the younger disappoints him by following the crowd. “I’m sorry, Mark hyung, but you know Jaebum hyung is never wrong.”

 

“I am never wrong,” Jaebum echoes, a smug grin plastered across his face as he pulls Youngjae into a shoulder hug proudly.

 

“And I am hella confused?” Mark rants. “Why are you all so clear about my feelings? What does that make mine? What does that make _me_?”

 

“In love?” Youngjae proposes fearlessly.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“He’s right, Mark,” adds Jaebum. “Bystanders see it clearer. Maybe you’re just too clouded with emotions to see through yourself.”

 

“I agree with Professor Jaebum. You prance around like a princess unicorn in our room whenever you have spent the day with Jinyoung. And when you haven’t, you’re like Grinch on an all-broccoli diet,” Jackson points out.

 

“That doesn’t mean anything! Plus, Jinyoung made it clear that it’s not possible,” Mark insists, refusing to give in to what he believes. Or rather, what he has been reminding himself day and night.

 

Youngjae furrows his eyebrows. “You mean he friend-zoned you?”

 

“N-no, not exactly.”

 

“Then?”

 

“I’ve told you guys at _The Blue Velvet._ He said – quote word by word – _some things should stay the way they are_.”

 

“So?” Jaebum says, and Mark is thrown off his balance. _So… what?_ It is already a hurtful memory to recall, and he has always been careful not to be too clingy or intrusive to Jinyoung, for fear that he would one day change his mind and run away if Mark crosses the edge. And now, Jaebum just has to throw him a grenade of a question that confuses him even more.

 

“You two are considered friends now, right? That means he already went against his words. His broke his own rules. And once rules are broken, other rules will follow suit,” Jaebum reasons, waving his French fry like a lecturer’s pointer.

 

He continues, “you have to figure out your own feelings, Mark. We can’t help you with that. And if you decide that you truly like Jinyoung, you have to tell him.”

 

“ _True love conquers all_ ,” Jackson interjects in a sing-song tone.

 

Mark squeezes his eyes shut. There is too much going on: too much information, too much advice. He feels vulnerable with his feelings up for his friends’ discussion, like a lone figure standing still in the middle of a food fight.

 

“Stop thinking, Mark. Your brain is useless for this. Your _heart_ already knows the answer, you will know it when you are with him. And then you tell him how you feel, problem solved,” says Jaebum.

 

“You make it sound so easy,” Mark grumbles.

 

“That’s because it is! I hate to quote Jackson but true love really conquers all. Just take a moment to feel, _not think_ , when you are with Jinyoung. It will all come together. You cannot just hold back how you really feel because of one meagre sentence that Jinyoung probably has already forgotten. Letting a person you like know that you like them, is not just for you. It’s respect for your relationship, whether you are friends or flings –  I don’t know, even strangers!”

 

Mark is driven up a wall. _Nothing makes sense. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore._ He lets out another exasperated sigh. “But… how?”

 

Jaebum exhales audibly. He says nothing for a while, like he is brooding over a crucial concern, and then resolutely, he straightens his back. He turns to face Youngjae and what comes out of his mouth left all of them stunned.

 

“Youngjae, I like you. I like you very much. I didn’t want to say this in such a circumstance, but I can’t wait anymore. I suddenly just had to tell you. I like you, everything about you.”

 

Youngjae stares at Jaebum unblinking. His adam’s apple moves up and down hesitantly, as he grasps for straws in his brain. What was initially a look of surprise transforms into one of bashfulness, his face now a glowing red and his eyes watery with tears.

 

Jaebum smiles, and Youngjae returns one.

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

 

* * *

 

At about four in the afternoon, Jinyoung turns up at Mark’s room in an oversized hoodie. He looks like he just woke up, with his usual straight hair tousled in different directions.

 

Mark thought he would simply be delighted to see Jinyoung after days of missing him, but he is overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. While he is mostly relieved that Jinyoung is standing before him unscathed, he is also brimming with anger, longing for an explanation to his extended disappearance. Besides that, he is feeling jittery, a sentiment he blames Jaebum for from their earlier conversation.

 

“Hey,” Jinyoung starts, his voice wavering. He lets Mark lead him to the bed, where he sits warily at the edge, almost military-like with his feet and knees aligned.

 

“Hey,” says Mark, rigid with tension. Tersely, his eyes flicker to Jinyoung’s bed hair. “Did you just wake up?”

 

“Yeah, how did you know?”

 

Mark reaches out to tidy Jinyoung’s hair, his fingers running through the soft texture, and he doesn’t think it’s spontaneity – doesn’t think it is recklessness than spurred him to touch Jinyoung. His hand is trembling and he knows Jinyoung can feel it too, despite him staying very still and not saying a thing.

 

“All better,” Mark says softly as he pulls his hand away. It is difficult to pretend he is not dying to ask Jinyoung a million questions. _Where have you been? Why haven’t you contacted me for so many days? Did something happen? Are you okay?_ But he restrains himself, deciding to be contented with Jinyoung’s return.

 

“Sorry,” apologises Jinyoung, his clenched fist wrinkling the bed sheet.

 

“Huh?”

 

“For coming here with messy hair and in pyjamas,” he says, and for justification, “I wanted to come here as quickly as possible.”

 

“Oh.” Mark doesn’t know what else to say. It is nothing to be sorry about. On the contrary, he is oddly touched at the imagery of Jinyoung rushing over as soon as he gets out of bed.

 

“Sorry,” Jinyoung says again. 

 

Mark laughs. “You don’t have to be,” he assures, but the younger shifts his eyes nervously. He has more to say.

 

“I mean, for disappearing for almost a week without telling you. You must have been worried, not that I deserve your concern.”

 

Mark remains silent. He is not angry anymore. From the moment Jinyoung apologised to him with those big doe eyes, his pillar of indignation collapsed. Nothing matters anymore, as long as Jinyoung is back by his side. He stares at Jinyoung, taking in his beautiful facial features, basking in the warmth of his blessed presence.  

 

“You’re not going to ask me why?” Jinyoung asks, returning the heated gaze.

 

“No, you would have told me if you wanted to,” says Mark, and before he can activate the filter in his mouth, “I’m just happy you are back.”

 

There is something about the way Jinyoung smiled. The way it caused butterflies to escape from the pit of Mark’s stomach and the way the sun had somehow toppled down from the sky and made a home right there in his heart. Mark smiles back, his face tinged with pink, but for once, not from embarrassment or shame but from pure bliss.

 

_Is this what Jaebum was talking about?_

 

He tries not to think as advised, and to focus on feeling. And all he feels is an indescribable happiness. It is not until Jinyoung smiles that he realises how much he missed the crinkled corners of his eyes, his dimpled cheeks and perfectly-aligned teeth. He missed Jinyoung, much more than he imagined.

 

“I’m happy to be back,” says Jinyoung.

 

“Oh dear,” Mark fans his hot face rapidly. “We really have become so cheesy, haven’t we?”

 

They burst into laughter together, the sweet, throaty cadences of Jinyoung’s voice adding a marvellous harmony to Mark’s own.

 

“ _You_ have, hyung. I’ve always been like that,” Jinyoung jokes.

 

“Yeah, right. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the days you look at me like you’re an Ice Queen. You used to scare me a little, you know that?”

 

“I _scared_ you?” Jinyoung asks incredulously. “That’s hard to believe! I used to scare you?” His facial features come to life again, his bright eyes sparkling with gaiety.

 

 _That’s it,_ Mark thinks. Jinyoung is the closest thing to a perfect human specimen. He was beautiful, yes, but never as blindingly beautiful as now. He is the living reverie for Mark: the mere sight of him sparks an almost infinite range of fantasy, from Greek to Gothic, from vulgar to divine.

 

“Anyway,” Jinyoung speaks again, “I really missed you, Mark hyung.”

 

As soon as Jinyoung says that, the sun comes suddenly from behind a rain cloud, flooding the room with glorious light that wavers on the walls like water. His face bursts into a glowing bloom.

 

A terrible sweetness boils up in Mark. Everything, for a moment – mirror, ceiling, floor – is unstable and radiant as a dream. He feels a fierce, nearly irresistible desire to embrace Jinyoung and keep his close, and to tell him exactly how he is feeling.

 

_I like you, Jinyoung._

_I like you very much._

And then, the cloud passes over the sun again, and the life went out of everything.

 

“I missed you too,” he says.

  

* * *

 

  

“Don’t worry, hyung!”

 

“But–” Mark begins, except, his protest falls on deaf ears as Jinyoung scurries to the door with his books before Mark can grab them.

 

“I’m not a baby anymore, I can get home on my own. You’d better focus on your work. Don’t blame me if you can’t graduate! Bye!” Jinyoung yells as he leaves Mark’s room and disappears onto the corridor. Mark listens to his footsteps diminish into the strong, evening wind. He moves to close the door, but ends up standing there, the frigid air burning his face.

 

In a distance, the grass is pale and stiffened with frost, and the last few browned leaves cling to the otherwise bare branches of an oak tree. Mark’s breath rises in visible puffs to join the darkened clouded night sky. It is winter already. He met Jinyoung in spring, and in the blink of an eye, it is down to the last quarter before a full year is complete.

 

“ _Don’t worry, hyung!_ ” Jackson repeats mockingly, imitating Jinyoung’s voice. “Yes, please, for goodness sake, Mark. Stop being Mr. Worry-pants and sit your fat ass down. And close the freaking door, it’s like negative two hundred degrees out there.”

 

Mark rolls his eyes, but listens to Jackson anyway. He flops back onto the bed after shutting the door.

 

“Why do you worry so much about him anyway?” Jackson continues while devouring his ninth slice of pizza. “You’re acting like an obsessed boyfriend.”

 

Mark sits up immediately. “You know I’m not his boyfriend,” he says.

 

Yes, Mark likes Jinyoung. Ever since he admitted it to himself, he feels stronger for the younger with each passing day. However, he has yet to confess. Maybe he is still scarred from Jinyoung’s initial rejection to become friends, or maybe he is afraid of the prospect of them breaking up (if they ever got together). Mark is greedy, but cowardly. He wants to be by Jinyoung’s side forever, and unless there is a fool-proof formula to confess and sustain a lifelong relationship, he’d rather stay in status quo.

 

“I know, I know,” deadpans Jackson. “Then act like it? You two are spending so much time together in _our_ room that I’m beginning to consider collecting hotel fees. Pay up, and I’ll throw in my condoms and lube.”

 

“Don’t be disgusting!” Mark shrieks, almost like a teenage girl. Heat is creeping up his neck way too swiftly for the cold weather.

 

“The disgusting ones are Jaebum and Youngjae. It’s such a pity, really. I was rooting for you and Jinyoung the whole time, and then they got together first – um, without _my permission?_ And now I have to watch them feed each other and call each other _baby_ all the time! Who knew Jaebum hyung could be so… _scandalous?_ ”

 

“Uh,” Mark clears his throat. “Actually, you and Bambam were the scandalous ones.”

 

“Hey, now, now. Stop reminding me that we broke up. I’m already hurt enough that he left me for this younger, inexperienced dude called Yug – what’s his name again?”

 

“Yugyeom.”

 

“Yes, Yug-whatever. Because he is taller than me? Ha!” Jackson crosses his arms and shakes his head in disbelief. “That boy is going to regret man, once they hit the bed, he will realise the power of my hips!”

 

Mark raises an eyebrow amusedly, then approaches Jackson to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “It’s been four months, Jackson. I hate to burst your bubble, but they probably already did _it_.”

 

Jackson says something – from his exaggerated arm movements Mark can deduce it was in opposition of what he just said, but his attention is drawn to the bunch of keys sitting at the side of the desk. He picks them up and examines them.

 

“Are these yours?” he asks Jackson.

 

“No? Were you even listening to me?” the younger complains, before adding, “and I’m pretty sure those are Jinyoung’s.”

 

“ _This,_ is why I worry about Jinyoung,” Mark mutters. And before Jackson can reply, he is out of his room with his winter coat.

 

It is only when Mark steps onto the frosty pavement outside of their dormitory that he realises he forgot his phone. He did not think this through; his actions beat his thoughts again. Jinyoung has been getting increasingly forgetful nowadays and Mark is always on a lookout for him, reminding him of things he needed to bring to school or to take his belongings when he leaves. Most of the time, it is not a serious problem since they are almost always together. But a day like today is not unanticipated.

 

Deciding to take the keys to Jinyoung’s home, he zips up his coat and lightly jogs against the gusty winter wind. Where Jinyoung lives is not far from their college (he has been there twice), at most a twenty-minute walk. If he runs, he might reach in half the time.

 

Mark loves the winter. When winter comes, everyone would hide in their warm apartments, sipping on their pumpkin spiced lattes while cosseted in their leather chairs. But Mark could stand outdoors forever, and listen to the silence that hangs so thickly in the frigid air – the quietness that is so hard to come by especially in college campus. He also enjoys the winter scenery, when everything is so pristine and magical: streetlights misty in the light snowfall, streets blanketed with soft snow, the milky moon like an ornament hung in the midnight sky. The first snowfall has yet to come, but he is already looking forward to winter wonderland.

 

But for now, the cold air is nothing but a hindrance to his speed. He worries that Jinyoung would be stranded outside of his home in the chilling temperatures, and he runs faster with that concern as motivation.

 

When he finally reaches Jinyoung’s place, a quaint little single-storey apartment away from the main roads, he is relieved to see that the porch is empty, meaning Jinyoung’s parents must have been home and let him in. Nevertheless, to make his trip worthwhile, he knocks on the door in hopes to return the keys.

 

Mark would have called, in case he wakes Jinyoung’s parents. Also, he is not the best tantalising talker who can hold riveting table talk with future in-laws. But without his phone, he doesn’t have a choice.

 

It is like his worst fear descended on him when Jinyoung’s mother opens the door. They have met once, but it was so brief that he could hardly greet her properly. And now she is staring at Mark as though he is an unwanted cookie-selling girl scout.

 

“You are?” she asks cautiously.

 

Mark’s arms stiffen by his side as he bends his back into a ninety-degree bow. “H-hello Mrs. Park. I am s-so sorry to interrupt at this time of the n-night. I’m M-mark, Jinyoung’s friend.” He barely finishes his sentence, stuttering from nervousness. His broken speech is perhaps misinterpreted as him shivering and clattering his teeth, as Jinyoung’s mother hurriedly ushers him into the house.

 

“You must be cold, hurry in first and we’ll talk,” she says.

 

Mark originally plans to reject politely and just hand her the keys, but he follows like a child to the Pied Piper. Jinyoung’s mother is too sincere and welcoming for him to say no.

 

“I remember you, Mark. Jinyoung tells me about you all the time,” she begins with a warm smile. Her wrinkles etched at the side of her eyes remind Mark of Jinyoung’s, except she looks much more tired. Without her smile, it would even look as though she is sick of life. “What brings you here?”

 

“Oh, is Jinyoung not in?” he asks, puzzled.

 

“Not yet, but don’t worry. He called to say he would be dropping by somewhere.”

 

 _Where? And this late?_ Mark cannot help but wonder, but Jinyoung’s mum doesn’t elaborate, so he shall not ask. He pulls out the bunch of keys from his pocket and presents them. “He forgot his keys again, so I thought I should bring it over in case you are not in,” he explains.

 

“Ah,” a gentle exclamation leaves her mouth. She pauses, looking at a distance as if she is organising her thoughts – a habit Mark thinks Jinyoung got from his mother – and then she smiles again, this time a bit forcefully, with her lips contorted uncomfortably. “Thank you so much for taking care of our Jinyoung.”

 

“You’re very welcome, it’s my pleasure.” Mark returns a courteous smile, and then wastes no time standing up to signify his wish to leave. He doesn’t think it is at all considerate to keep Jinyoung’s mother up when it is almost eleven at night. He bows again and bids farewell. “I don’t think I should stay here any longer, it’s already so late and you need to rest.”

 

To his surprise, Jinyoung’s mother reaches for his hand and holds them tightly. “Wait, Mark,” she says, “I have something to talk to you about.” Her voice is shaky, and Mark sits back down intuitively. He looks at her with worry as she shuffles into a room – likely Jinyoung’s bedroom, which he hasn’t been in despite having visited their apartment before – to retrieve something.

 

She returns with a notebook, which in Mark’s faint memory, he somewhat recognises to be the same notebook he has seen months ago when he stumbled on Jinyoung’s Instagram account. It is the same grid notebook that contained Jinyoung’s bucket list, identifiable by the tattered sides on the cover and the ribbon bookmark sticking out.

 

“I don’t know if I am being a good mother by showing you this. Jinyoung keeps it very private, and he probably doesn’t want you to see it. But I know he values you very much, and you to him too,” Jinyoung’s mother begins. There is a forlorn expression on her face, and her words drag out, full of reminiscence, as though she is speaking of a loved one that has passed on.

 

She continues, “I want to help him as much as I can, even if it means he will resent me. So please, take a look.”

 

To say Mark is confused is an understatement. He is beyond that; the tentative tone of Jinyoung’s mother and the unusual combination of words she spoke fuel a fear deep in his gut. His instincts are sending warning calls to him, and somehow, he knows that nothing good will result from him opening the notebook.

 

His fingers brushes across the cover, and despite its modest exterior, it sends shivers down his spine. Hesitantly, he flips the first page open. Jinyoung’s neat yet artistic handwriting fills the entire page, in an orderly list of what seems like one of those personal-particulars form one has to fill in at a hospital. It has everything, from his full name to his birthdate to his family’s particulars. Mark deciphers that as the immense value of this notebook to Jinyoung, who perhaps had written these information in case he ever loses the notebook.

 

However, as he flips through the other pages, it makes less and less sense. He was expecting a diary, which he wasn’t too far off if he only looked at the front few pages. From seemingly regular diary entries, the contents change drastically from the page of his bucket list onwards. There is a large post-it note on each page, each with short memos on them. But they are not the everyday shopping list or homework reminders.

 

_“Your dream is to become an actor.”_

_“College: take bus 52.”_

If one thinks carefully, there is no reason for someone to write down trivial things like that; things that are routine, personal, innate. But Mark isn’t really thinking as he reads in interest, especially when he sees a few mentions of his name.

 

_“Met Mark @The Blue Velvet.”_

_“Mark likes noodles.”_

_“Mark’s dorm room: Block B Floor 4 (not 5!!)”_

 

Nothing could have prepared him for the last note.

 

_“Remember this name: Mark Tuan.”_

The words stare at Mark like a reproach. Were his thoughts visible, they would be an inverse explosion, crazy chaotic turns and twists of light all coming together to just one conclusion. He knows, he knows what these memos mean and he knows how they come together with so much sense in retrospect with his experience with Jinyoung. But he refuses to say it. Because when he hears himself say it, it will be reinforced as reality.

 

And it must _not_ be reality. It must not.

 

However, against all his wishes, Jinyoung’s mother helps him voice his thoughts. “What you’re thinking is right, Mark,” she says with a trembling voice, “I’m s-so sorry…” She bites her lip tightly in attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape from her mouth, and Mark’s heart sinks. _Don’t say it. Please._

 

Her lower lip quivers as words slowly make their way out of her mouth. “It’s Alzheimer’s.”

 

Sometimes, when there's been an accident and reality is too sudden and strange to comprehend, the surreal will take over. It is exactly as Mark is feeling right now.

 

Action slows to a dreamlike glide, frame by frame; the motion of a hand, a sentence spoken, fills an eternity. Little things are magnified, brought from the background in achingly clear focus. It is like a painting too vivid to be real – every piece of furniture, every detail on the wallpaper sharply defined, the lights so bright it hurt him to look at them.

 

He does not cry. He feels dead, like an empty carcass, but he listens to everything Jinyoung’s mother has to say between her sobs. It is early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, so rare for young adults that Jinyoung is the only one in Korea with it. She wants Mark to take care of him, to help him as much as he can until the disease is too severe for him to go to college. And Jinyoung is at the hospital to get his pills as they speak, alone, because he doesn’t want anyone to treat him differently.

 

It is only when Mark steps out of the apartment, when the cold wind blasts at his face that the anguish begins spread in his body. It surges with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by his long intakes of the damp, wintry air. He limps into the distance, not looking at where he is going, too fixated at blaming the gods for this miserable fate. Only the slipping of his feet brings his attention earthward once more, the need to stay upright pulling his mind into the present.

 

He might have walked for more than an hour, he has no idea, wandering lifeless like one of those ghosts who are said to linger around depots late at night, asking passers-by for the timetable of the Midnight Express that derailed twenty years before. 

 

 _Why?_ He cannot stop asking himself. _Why Jinyoung? Out of so many people in the world, why Jinyoung? Why now? After I’ve fallen for him?_

_Why is the world so unfair?_

The concrete floor begins to spot with water droplets, and as Mark looks up, he sees snow falling, flakes drifting lazily to the ground like confetti. Just a while ago, he was looking forward to the snow. He was feeling happy, excited. He had wanted to experience the first snowfall with Jinyoung.

 

Now, he feels his heart limping in his chest, and is revolted by it, a pitiful muscle, sick and bloody, pulsing against his ribs. What right does he have to be happy? What’s the point of being alive now?

 

His favourite part of his favourite season becomes a nightmare. When the snow alights on his face, it is harsh and biting, far from the enrapturing magic he has known. He had kept his face stubbornly dry; he didn’t want to cry. But as the snow melts instantaneously against his cheek, it rolls down like a lone tear, inviting more to fall.

 

When the first tear escapes his eye, what was denial turns into awareness, and he finally breaks down. Falling to the ground, he strikes his forehead and heart like a man demented, with cries of grief, curses and lamentations.

 

In this swirl of white Mark’s world is washed anew, like a new page, and he doesn’t want it.

 

* * *

 

  

Mark falls sick the next day. Of course, considering he was crying his eyes out in the winter cold yesterday and refused to head home until Jackson called the school security to engage in an excessive manhunt for him. The security called him various things, from _“crazy”_ to _“out of his mind”,_ but he cares less for their brickbat than for Jackson to find out what had happened. Jackson tried, interrogating him some time in the morning but Mark remained adamant about keeping his lips sealed.    

 

Thankfully, Jackson gave up and left for classes. Yet, leaving Mark alone gave him all the more reason and time to feel sick, and it is not alleviating his suffering in any way. He tries to take his mind off his worries by randomly watching videos on YouTube, but the pounding agony in his head is such that he cannot concentrate on anything, and even compilation videos of babies laughing are useless.

 

Every time he thinks of Jinyoung’s Alzheimer’s, he feels like puking. The nausea swells in a great green wave, trembles at the crest, sinks and rolls again. Mark feels saturated with despair. _Everything_ , he thinks tremulously, _everything would be okay if only I could have a few moments of quiet and if I lay very, very still._

It no longer surprises him, knowing he is dogged by misfortune, when Jinyoung knocks at his door and makes himself comfortable in the room before Mark can pretend he is not in (he should never have given Jinyoung spare keys).

 

“Jackson told me you called in sick,” Jinyoung begins, concernedly. He rummages his bag and pulls out an array of things that can possibly set up a pharmacy store, from unidentifiable bottles of sickly, colourful liquids to bandages and gauze which Mark obviously doesn’t need, maybe except to use them to cover his eyes and avoid Jinyoung’s worried gaze.

 

“I’m fine,” Mark croaks. As he says that, waves of heat course through his blood and his body starts to ache. His head aches, his stomach aches, even his bones ache.

 

Jinyoung frowns at him. “You don’t sound fine,” he says, moving towards Mark in the bed and placing a hand over his forehead, “and you don’t feel fine too. Gosh, your fever is bad! Did you wash your face in boiling water or something?”

 

To Mark, the gentle touch of Jinyoung’s hand feels like it is burning through him like a potent catalyst. Without warning, he feels a rush of blustering energy surging through his body, and in an instant, all of his worldly pain evaporated.

 

Except the pain in heart, which grew even more unbearable.

_How can he act like nothing is wrong? How can he act like he is not in pain?_

 

“Anyway, let me get you fixed up,” says Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung knows what he is doing, being all motherly with his damp washcloth and apparent expertise in mixing fruity homemade remedies. Throughout his life, Mark has never felt more taken care of. How ironic it is that less than twenty-four hours ago, he is given the important life mission of taking care of Jinyoung.

 

It really hurts him, the pain even more raw now that he is seeing Jinyoung up close. The younger has always been happy – _acting_ like he is happy – when he is with Mark, and he never once showed distress towards anyone because of his condition. But now, Mark sees everything. He sees why Jinyoung avoided him at the start, why he always asked eccentric questions and why he acted like he needs to complete all life goals by the end of the year.

 

As Jinyoung dries off his sweaty forehead for him, Mark stares at him through the moving shadows of the towel. He doesn’t just sneak glances like he usually does, but blatantly stares, wanting to etch every detail of Jinyoung’s face into his heart.

 

Jinyoung does look different from a year ago. His eyes are dark-lidded, with dark shadows beneath them; he really is older, not the bright-eyed boy he had fallen in love with but no less beautiful than that – beautiful now in a way that less excites Mark’s senses than tears at his very heart.

 

“I’m sorry hyung, it’s all my fault,” Jinyoung confesses out of the blue. And Mark stops breathing for a moment. _Does he… know?_

 

“I heard from Jackson that you were out to return my keys, which got you so sick,” he continues, showing no knowledge of his mother’s disclosure to Mark. He lets out a huge sigh, and grinds his teeth as he blames himself, “if only I can be less forgetful! I’m always troubling you, Mark hyung, I’m sorry.”

 

Mark wants to yell at Jinyoung, and tell him there is nothing to be sorry about, that he shouldn’t blame himself, that life is the ruthless and unfair and a fucking asshole. But he knows better than to behave extraordinarily which would let Jinyoung suffer more than he already is.

 

“It’s alright,” he says instead, feigning a lively attitude – an absolute failure. He is lucky he is ill, and it can be an excuse for his voice cracking uncontrollably every time he speaks.

 

Jinyoung takes no notice, and smiles back. “You’re the best, hyung.”

 

Mark doesn’t deny that he is a coward. In fact, he is the biggest loser of all wimps. His delayed confession to Jinyoung can be pardoned by all sorts of excuses, from it not being the right time or him waiting for when it is clear that his fondness is reciprocated, but that only applies if there’s a guarantee that Jinyoung stays by his side forever. At this moment, the opposite stands true. Jinyoung’s mother has related what the doctors have said about Jinyoung’s condition: instead of his motor skills or judgement, his memory will deprive more quickly, especially the recent ones.

 

A year from now, Jinyoung might not even recognise Mark on the street. And as heartbroken as Mark is, he is in a dilemma, like at the start of a two-way junction. Which is right? To confess and possibly make Jinyoung feel apologetic for not being able to promise anything, or to keep his feelings to himself and never give Jinyoung a chance to know them before he forgets and moves on?

 

Both seem wrong. But the correct answer in Mark’s heart would take a miracle – no, infinite number of miracles combined – to happen.

 

“Jinyoung ah,” he begins cautiously, his voice barely audible.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“S-stay with me,” Mark mumbles. It is his wish, a wish he would trade anything with for it to come true.

 

“I can’t stay with you all day, hyung. I have a class in the evening,” Jinyoung laughs as he ruffles Mark’s hair affectionately.

 

“No,” Mark says, more seriously this time, “I mean, stay with me, _forever_.”

 

Jinyoung stops laughing. He gently pushes a stray hair away from Mark’s eyes, but looks away as he replies: “I will.”

 

They both say nothing, but it is the most excruciating moment, because they both know very well, that that is an empty promise made.

 

* * *

 

 

When Mark gets better, he falls into a deceiving illusion that everything is back to normal. Life goes on, as distressing as it is, and he is ashamed to say that there are many times he forgot about Jinyoung’s Alzheimer’s. Maybe it is just his defence mechanism working, blocking out all thoughts on that and bringing him back to the fluffy, wondrous days of just wasting his life watching Jinyoung read.

 

When reality strikes back, it falls on Mark like a landslide every single time without fail. Jaebum has asked several times if he is pregnant, for his mood swings attack like a 360-degree pirate ship; one second he is smiling and the next he can be tearing up for no reason.

 

 _This is how Jinyoung feels,_ he tells himself in order to buck up. No pain is harder to bear than one that is secret, with nobody to share the burden with. Jinyoung has been dealing with this for an entire year, and Mark shouldn’t be wailing at the sight of a Charles Dickens book.

 

Mark decides to do all he can for Jinyoung, and the first thing he thinks of is to help him complete his bucket list. It is in no way obligatory; he wants to do it, he wants to make Jinyoung happy. However, it is perhaps the most preposterous thing he has chosen to do in his life, on his own accord.

 

In reference to the photo of the bucket list Jinyoung posted on his Instagram (and that is, after hours of squinting and fumbling with resolutions on his computer to sharpen the words), Mark tries to lead Jinyoung into completing his wishes.

 

Some are not difficult, such as _“watch Wicked live”_ , where Mark just had to pretend he won tickets to the musical from taking part in the nearby supermarket’s lottery game. His bank account balance plummeted, losing a digit altogether, but it is all worth it when he saw how engaged Jinyoung was during the show, how he gapes at the performers and laughs heartily at the comedic skits.

 

Jinyoung was happy, and so was Mark.

 

Some are just cute; well, strange, but fantastic because it is Jinyoung. _“Carve a pumpkin”_ is one, which Mark guesses is one of Jinyoung’s childhood wishes that he never got to accomplish. Koreans don't dress up for Halloween, and kids are too busy studying in after-school academies to be able to take a few hours off to haunt the streets and collect candy. He thinks Jinyoung might have been one of them.

 

Carving a pumpkin is fine, it is great; but finding an excuse to do so in January is ridiculous. He had to ask the staff at the mart for a bigger pumpkin, and then stuttered foolishly when asked for the purpose of his choice. _“Oh, I want to carve a pumpkin for Halloween… in January”_ sounded _absolutely_ reasonable. Also, if not for Jinyoung, Mark would never speak to a staff member in any public venue (self-checkout is his best friend).

 

When he had invited Jinyoung over and deliberately displayed the pumpkin with carving knives at the side, as though it is completely natural to prepare for Halloween nine months in advance, Jinyoung had pretended to be uninterested. Mark found it endearing, how the younger strolled around the room but always gravitated towards the pumpkin, and how he stole inquisitive glances at it when he thought Mark wasn’t looking. They eventually settled for “hating” pumpkin soup and deciding to have fun with the giant fruit instead.

 

Jinyoung was happy, and so was Mark.

 

Some, on the other hand, took half of Mark’s lifespan away. Jinyoung loves people, albeit his introverted nature and professed love for alone time, and he wants to help people around him and make everyone happy. He is the kind of person who would wish for world peace or the elimination of world hunger. Mark isn’t. So, taking part in community or charity events isn’t really his thing, especially since they require adept communication skills, which he could definitely use more of.

 

One wish on Jinyoung’s bucket list is to _“take part in Free Hugs”_. It sounds like a complete nightmare to Mark, but he is willing to tread dark waters for Jinyoung. When the college fair came and Mark suggested to take part in the Free Hugs event with Jinyoung, Jackson called him _“possessed by Dalai Lama_ _who just had his sexual awakening” –_ god knows what he meant by that, but Mark was acting unlike himself, for sure. 

 

He had to wear a wide smile throughout the event, engage in cordial but pretentious chatter and deal with sleazy pricks who came just for the skin-to-skin contact. And many times he felt like crumbling to the ground from all the socialising going on, and he questioned himself relentlessly on his decision, but ultimately pressed on for Jinyoung. However, his bullheadedness overestimated his physical stamina, and he fainted after a group of chirpy female students flocked towards him all at once.

 

Mark’s experience at the infirmary was no less traumatic. The rough nurse had ripped off the bandages around his IV with such callousness, and poked him black and blue in her desultory search for his veins. Also, they insisted on pushing him out in a wheelchair, though he was perfectly able to walk and humiliated at being rolled out like a parcel. However, when Jinyoung appeared by his side and engulfed him in a big, bear hug, he felt better immediately.

 

 _“Thank you for doing this for me,”_ he had said. And Mark’s heartbeat did a tango.

 

Jinyoung was happy, and so was Mark.

 

At some point, Mark eliminated all reasons for helping Jinyoung. It is not for himself to feel good, as he feels happiness not from making Jinyoung happy, but seeing him happy. It is not sympathy, because Jinyoung, with or without Alzheimer’s, is still Jinyoung to him. It is not by duty as a friend, because he sees Jinyoung as _more_ than just a friend.

 

There is no reason needed to help Jinyoung, because _love_ is not a reason.

 

Love, is unconditional.

 

* * *

  

Time flies.

 

As much as Mark doesn’t want to admit it, it is evident from both the increased frequency of Jinyoung’s memory lapses and his progress of completing the bucket list. In three months, Mark has done more things than he imagined he would have in three lifetimes. And he has now reached the last point of Jinyoung’s bucket list.

 

It is what he aimed for when he set off on this personal project, to complete the bucket list. But somehow, now that he has reached the determining finale, he doesn’t like the sound of it. Completing a bucket list seems like a jinx, as though once it is achieved, it is also time to kick the bucket. Jinyoung is _not_ going to die, Mark is aware, but he cannot help but feel an inexplicable sense of loss.

 

It may be because he doesn’t know what else he can do for Jinyoung after the bucket list is completed, which is in the near future – tomorrow, to be exact. _“Wish upon a star”_ is Jinyoung’s last wish, which on a normal day Mark would find ironic and marginally funny, but in Jinyoung’s situation it is heart-breaking.

 

He is unsure if it is due to the touching element of Jinyoung’s wish or because of his imminent post-bucket-list crisis that he is overcome by depression. He spends all day heaving in bed, allowing himself to be swamped with negative emotion and shed tears as silent as the grave roll in steady procession. He skips dinner when he barely had lunch, never once leaving the confines of his bed but also never falling asleep for fear that nightmares will haunt him.

 

Some time in the middle of the night when even the crickets that shrieked piercingly had fallen asleep, Jackson wakes up and shuffles to the mini fridge to grab a bowl of cereal.

 

“What time is it?” Mark asks, having lost count of time since a long time ago.

 

He can hear Jackson drop his bowl back onto the table, followed by a loud sigh. “It’s just past 4am,” Jackson grumbles.

 

“Isn’t it too early to be eating?”

 

“ _Isn’t it too early to be eating?_ ” Jackson repeats as he turns on the room light shortly. Mark flips over on his blanket to see his friend glaring incredulously at him. “What time do stomachs open? Tell me, Mark. Tell me why I am awake at _fucking_ 4am in the morning!”

 

“Uh–”

 

“Because of you!” Jackson interrupts before Mark has a chance to say something. “How many times must I tell you not to flip around on your bed like a lil’ worm? I’m a light sleeper, okay? You’ve been doing that for _days_ and I keep waking up thinking something is going to crash on my glorious forehead!” He is fuming, so unlike the usual Jackson who would wave off an insult with at most a few sardonic comments.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mark whispers, not knowing what else to say.

 

“Sorry? To me or for yourself?” Jackson says exasperatedly, “seriously, you’ve been acting like your colonoscopy is looming. Why else would you skip meals and hide in your bed and secretly cry? _Oh, I know!_ Jinyoung! Who else?”

 

Mark gulps. The whole world knows.

 

Jackson continues, “I know, _I know_. You can’t tell me what the problem is –”

 

“–I have a reason!”

 

“A reason I do not care about,” Jackson expresses. He slaps his hands to his own face and contorts his features in an indication of his grievance. “What are you afraid of, Mark? Rejection? Separation? Humiliation? Wait, I thought you’ve gone past that, going as far as fainting after giving _free hugs_ to impress Jinyoung? What exactly are you scared of?”

 

_Him losing his memories. Him not remembering me. Him disappearing from my life._

 

“Did you see me hesitate in any of my relationships? Did you see me giving up on life when Bambam left me?” Jackson continues, voice stirring with emotion.

 

“N-no...”

 

“And why is that, Mark? It’s because I _loved_ him. I loved Bambam, sometimes I still think I do. I was outraged when he cheated on me, yes, but would that stop me from loving him if I knew it would happen from the start? _No,_ Mark, because I truly loved him. And nothing is scarier than having regrets.”

 

Mark has never seen Jackson so sombre and sentimental like that; he understands, he thinks he understands, but with Jinyoung it is different. He tells himself again and again not to treat Jinyoung like a terminal patient, and it has been manageable, like a granted pledge, but as Jinyoung’s condition deteriorates, it gets tougher. Jinyoung has been even more forgetful recently, and the rate at which it worsens is increasingly rapidly. It scares Mark. It feels like the end of them is approaching.

 

“I know, Jackson,” he avouches, “I know, but it’s a different situation for me and Jinyoung. I’m trying, Jacks, I’m trying my best. But I don’t know what is right. I don’t know how Jinyoung will feel about it, if I told him how I feel.”

 

“Forget Jinyoung! Do it for yourself, for once, please. If you love him, just _fucking_ tell him already! If you really love him, give him all of your heart and let him decide what to do with it. Give yourself a chance, Mark,” says Jackson.

 

“B-but, isn’t in inconsiderate of his feelings to–”

 

“I said, care about yourself for once!” Jackson reaffirms his point, so strenuously he is almost shouting. “In relationships, you have to be selfless. But before that, to _love_ , you have to be _selfish._ ”

 

_It is okay to be selfish. It is normal to be selfish._

That is exactly what he had told Jinyoung.

 

* * *

  

When the twilight fades to blackness, it lights a fire inside Mark’s guts. _It is time,_ he thinks. The two of them – him and Jinyoung – are sitting by each other’s side, shoulder to shoulder, on the rooftop of the dormitory. Officially it is to stargaze, unofficially it is to see the finale to Jinyoung’s bucket list.

 

Mark was hoping for a canopy of luminous stars, something like a brilliant Van Gogh, so this fateful night can at least be under the protection of beautiful lights. Reality is, however, a stark, inky darkness. No stars to wish upon, perhaps a blessing in disguise.

 

“How long have we known each other?” Jinyoung asks. The openness of the roof engulfs his words into silence, as if they were quickly taken away by the Spring wind.

 

“A year,” Mark replies, _and eleven days_ , he wanted to add, _since I saw you drowning in drinks at The Blue Velvet._ “It’s almost a year.”

 

“Time flies doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

 

Somewhere far away, a nightingale sings a sweet melodious chorus, which tumbles through the crisp, night air.

 

“Mark hyung?” Jinyoung speaks again.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I don’t think I’ve said this enough, but thank you. Thank you for being by my side, and for always being there for me. I’m so glad you let me in to your life, especially since I know you’re not really fond of making friends,” he says. Mark tries not to look at him, because even in the dark night Jinyoung shines bright like the sun, yet he sees him, like the sun, even without looking.

 

“There’s no need to thank me, Jinyoung ah. I’m happy to have met you too, and I’m happy we are so close now. I don’t mind at all, doing these things for you,” Mark says. He is smiling, but his heart hurts.

 

“But you don’t have to do so much for me.”

 

“I don’t have to but I want to, Jinyoung.”

 

Jinyoung then turns to face Mark, making direct eye contact. His soft lips stretches into a smile but doesn’t quite reach his dark eyes. They are lit with sadness, and the forced expression would have looked comical to Mark if it didn’t make his heart feel heavy. Mark doesn’t want Jinyoung to leave. He doesn’t want to turn into a random image that floated in the pool of his memory, which will one day be wiped out as well. He doesn’t want Jinyoung to go.

 

“Hyung, I know everything,” Jinyoung starts, his voice quivering. “I know that _you_ know. About… my Alzheimer’s.”

 

Mark stares at the younger. Nothing could have prepared him for what Jinyoung had just said. He remains silent, letting his heartbeat pound in his ears. _Baboom, baboom._ This is happening. It is real.

 

“It’s hard not to notice you are ticking things off my bucket list, hyung. And I’ve never said this to you before but I know you liked my Instagram post, so it all links up.”

 

Mark knows that, from Jinyoung’s notebook.

 

“And so I asked my mum about it and she told me everything about how she told you about my condition.”

 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Mark speaks under his breath, guilt filling his downcast eyes, “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

 

Despite the tense atmosphere, Jinyoung chuckles lightly. “It’s alright, hyung. I’m the one who kept the secret from you. I just, didn’t want you to know, y’know? I remembered our first encounter at the bar – I was drunk but I remembered clearly – yet I kept it from you because I didn’t want you to know.”

 

“It’s okay. I mean, I was pretty embarrassed myself so I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it,” Mark admits, his heavy heart fluttering transiently at Jinyoung’s eye smile.

 

“I guess that was what made me feel close to you, hyung – the fact that we both had something to fear for. I tried so hard to avoid you, because I didn’t want you to go through any pain from our impermanent friendship. But I just couldn’t.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“It’s so selfish of me to keep you as a friend, knowing I cannot even promise to be by your side forever. And that is after I’ve hurt your feelings by pushing you away so many times before I single-handedly decide to acknowledge you all of a sudden. For that, I tried my best to keep our memories together, but they j-just… they keep leaving me, Mark hyung. I was so scared. Scared that I will not remember you one day, but even more afraid that it was wrong for me to be so selfish. I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to be your friend. Even when I knew I will forget and you will be the one to suffer, I wanted all of that.”

 

Upon Jinyoung’s confession, Mark feels empty. He doesn’t know what to feel – _how_ to feel. Jackson’s words keep ringing in his head: _“If you love him, tell him.”_

 

Jinyoung keeps on talking, understandably, as taking that load off his chest would be comforting after a year of bearing it alone. “I’m so selfish!” he repeats, reproaching himself, “I wasn’t thinking of you, but, at the same time I was. I don’t know, hyung. I just couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

 

 _I love Jinyoung,_ Mark realises suddenly. It is not that he has never thought of it, but at that moment it is so clear, like a ray of light in a void of darkness. If it weren’t for Jinyoung, there would never have been an empty space in his heart, or the need to fill it. He loves Jinyoung, and he will love him until they cannot love anymore.

 

He leans in and kisses Jinyoung. And the world disappears around them, along with all their worries.

 

For the first time in forever, Mark’s mind is locked in the present. He doesn’t dwell in their past, and he doesn’t think about their future together. Jinyoung makes him feel like none of that matter. As their kiss deepens, Mark feels a wave of warmth passing over the nervousness from their first contact. Whatever feelings of hesitation dissipate in the heat between them, and are replaced with sweet, saturated love.

 

Jinyoung tastes of reminiscence of their time to come, of heartbreak and pain, but it fills Mark up. It makes him feel complete.

 

As they finally pull apart, Mark gazes at Jinyoung’s flushed cheeks, and his heart feels like bursting. Not because he is embarrassed of the kiss between them, but because Jinyoung looks beyond beautiful in his dazed state. For once, Mark isn’t the one blushing and flabbergasted. He is feeling brave like a warrior who just conquered his own fears; he is daring and he is in love.

 

He reaches out to cup Jinyoung’s cheeks in his own hands. “It’s my turn to be selfish,” he says. And then he leans in again, meeting those soft lips he will never grow sick of. “I love you, Jinyoung.”

 

It is rare to see Jinyoung this startled and the sight of him trying to gather his senses together makes Mark grin.

 

“As I said, it’s my turn to be selfish. You wanted to be my friend despite knowing it will not be forever, and now I’m saying I want to love you. I don’t care if you will leave me one day, or if you will forget me forever. I love you, and I want to love you until the day we cannot love anymore,” Mark confesses. “Will you let me be selfish this time? Will you let me love you, Jinyoung?”

 

Jinyoung doesn’t pause to think. He smiles, the first genuine smile of jubilation in ages, and then he nods. The distance between them then becomes a thing of the past, as they find comfort in each other’s arms through the rest of the night.

 

As if some form of divination decides to bless their new relationship, a swirl of clouds part to reveal a lone star in the night sky. It doesn’t sparkle, but glows like the moon, softly kissing the gloom of the night.

 

“Hey,” Mark nudges Jinyoung lightly, gesturing to the star above their heads, “make a wish!”

 

Jinyoung laughs against Mark’s chest, sending vibrations though his body. He says, with a twinkle in his voice, “you’re really into _my_ bucket list, aren’t you?” Nevertheless, he closes his eyes and clasps his hands together before his chin, and makes a wish beside the love of his life.

 

When he opens his eyes, he searches for something in his bag. “I have something for you,” he tells Mark.

 

“What is it?”

 

“This,” says Jinyoung, pulling out his grid notebook. “It’s the one you saw at my place.”

 

Mark muses, “I know. But, you’re giving this to me?”

 

“Yes. Keep it for me,” Jinyoung requests, presenting the notebook to Mark like it’s his most valuable treasure. “Keep my memories, _our_ memories safe for me.”

 

Mark takes Jinyoung’s hand and interlocks their fingers. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, he promises: “I will.”

 

This time, it is not an empty promise.

 

* * *

 

Jinyoung wants two kids, a boy and a girl. He wants to get a job as a theatre actor but sometimes indulges in his fantasies to make an appearance on the big screen. He wants to get married and have his honeymoon in Paris, or Venice, or Santorini – he cannot decide. He wants to own a multi-storey apartment where he can live with Mark and their children, as well as both their parents all together like one big happy family. He wants to grow old to the music on the radio, and to books with pages yellowed and covers bent.

 

Mark and Jinyoung speak of their future together all the time, despite it being uncertain. Sometimes, it feels as though everything will fall in place as they have planned. But one day, after a trip out of Seoul with his parents, Jinyoung meets Mark in college and looks at him closely. The unfamiliar concern in his eyes makes Mark nearly sick with fear.

 

“I see so little of you these days, Mark hyung,” he says. “How long has it been since we’ve met? Two weeks?”

 

The innocence, the spiritual calm that radiates from him seems so clear and true that, for a dizzying moment, Mark feels darkness lift almost palpably from his heart. But it takes just another second for him to realise what is happening, and the whole poisonous weight comes crashing back down, full force.

 

“Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Jinyoung asks.

 

“Oh, sure I am,” Mark says. “I’m fine.”

 

Except he is far from fine. They did not last see each other two weeks ago.

 

They just Skype-called last night.

 

* * *

 

After graduating, life becomes even more mundane. Mark now works as a recording engineer in Jaebum’s own music recording studio. While he is deeply grateful to Jaebum for giving him a job, he is tired of all his nagging. Jaebum is one demanding boss who, unfortunately, firmly believes in working overtime.

 

As such, Mark finds himself depending on alcohol a lot more to take his mind off his stress. Some things have changed in his group of friends, but their frequent visits to _The Blue Velvet_ remain the same, just like their old schooling days.

 

“Cheers! For Youngjae’s non-pregnancy!” Jackson exclaims in a sprightly tone, his nonsense once again earning a painful smack on the shoulder from Jaebum.

 

“Hey, cut it with the nonsense. How is it possible for males to get pregnant? Ever studied biology?” Jaebum berates.

 

Jackson slaps his lap as he guffaws, clearly enjoying Jaebum’s annoyance. “I don’t know. Maybe you have a magical dick or something. Miracle semen! Ha-ha!”

 

Mark laughs along at his best friend’s drunken jokes, which get much funnier when Youngjae takes it seriously. “Excuse me?” Youngjae protests, “what makes you think I’m the bottom?” That sends everyone into convulsions again.

 

Mark sips at his wine thoughtfully as the conversation dies down. His friends are awesome, and their company is great, but being in _The Blue Velvet_ makes him feel a little sorrowful, no doubt. It is ultimately the place he had first met Jinyoung.

 

They soon run out of drinks. Jaebum and Youngjae leave the table and head to the back of the bar together – what they plan to do, Mark doesn’t want to know. And so, it is just down to him and Jackson.

 

“Mark, go get more drinks,” Jackson whines, refusing to move his lazy ass to the bar table a few feet away.

 

“I’ve had enough. Go get them yourself if you want,” replies Mark.

 

Jackson huffs. “I’m tired and I have zero energy left. Let’s draw lots!” he suggests, quickly holding two straws of different lengths in his hand, a bit too efficiently for someone who claims to be _without_ energy. Mark picks one randomly.

 

“Why aren’t you showing your straw, Jackson?”

 

“ _Argh!_ Okay fine, I’ll get the drinks,” he mumbles, peeling his bottom off the chair reluctantly. “Can’t believe I got the short straw. You’re lucky we’re not comparing dick sizes!”

 

Mark scoffs, shaking his head. Jackson is drunk alright. He also takes forever and doesn’t return, and Mark turns around to see him flirting with the bartender in a distance. _Typical._

 

He is beginning to feel bored swiping down his Instagram feed when he hears footsteps and a tinkle of ice from an advancing cocktail. Thinking it is Jackson or perhaps Jaebum and Youngjae, he takes no special notice and continues staring at his phone. That is, until a familiar voice speaks.

 

“Hi,” the interrupter says as he pulls out the seat beside Mark and sits down.

 

Mark looks up, and his heart stops. There he is, _Jinyoung_ , right before his eyes. He blinks in disbelief before sending him a questioning look, cocking his head to the side. But Jinyoung simply smiles, a sincere one, yet impersonal, reminding Mark of the first time they met at the very same place they are right now. _He doesn’t remember_ , he realises, feeling a familiar pang in his chest.

 

“Hello,” Jinyoung says again, extending a hand towards Mark. “I’m Jinyoung.”

 

As their hands touch, Mark is abruptly overwhelmed with a mix of strong emotions. The sadness he had felt when Jinyoung never came back to him, the loneliness he suffered without Jinyoung by his side, as well as the sudden rush of memories of them together – the times they held hands, the times they embraced like the sky is falling over them, kissed without any qualms and touched each other with passion and love.

 

It is now all behind them. They have moved on, like they have promised each other on the night he confessed.

 

 _“So, I just keep this notebook forever?”_ he had asked after receiving the notebook Jinyoung treasured so dearly.

 

 _“No, not forever,”_ Jinyoung said, _“until the day I completely forget you. I don’t want you to be stuck in the past if I leave. I want you to move on and keep our love as a memory in your heart. Burn this notebook, when that day comes. So I will never see it and struggle to love you from the memories I cannot remember, and so you can move on and live your life without me.”_

Jinyoung looks good. He looks well-rested, free from worries, and happy. That is all that Mark needs to know. He is finally ready to let Jinyoung go, and keep him as a memory in his heart. A bittersweet memory.

 

He shakes Jinyoung’s hand and returns a smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says, “I’m Mark.”

  

* * *

 

 

That night, in the brazier outside of Mark’s apartment, a fire burns, illuminating the dark night. The flames flicker passionately, presenting their last dance of courage, faith and love. As the pages of the notebook incinerate into black ashes, the words that were once there get etched in Mark’s heart, line by line.

 

After a while, the fire dies, leaving behind a single page that avoided the strong blaze. On it, four words can be seen beyond the soot and dust.

 

_I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read through this shit, you are freaking amazing. Thank you so much, you have no idea how much it means to me! Kudos and comments greatly appreciated xxx

**Author's Note:**

> If you read through this shit, you are freaking amazing. Thank you so much, you have no idea how much it means to me! Kudos and comments great appreciated xxx


End file.
